Have you ever stalled out your thinking parts before? Like, you've had so many thoughts stimulate your brain stem simultaneously that it stopped? Ceased? Succumbed to a frightening silence so loud and awful it made your ears bleed? All. Of. The. Time. I took my recycling out the other day and I stumbled upon a couple more destitute than I. Hard to imagine, I know. I offered my defeated liquor bottles, having previously vanquished their innards. They weren't remotely organized...such is existence. I felt guilty, my mishmash of drunken folly. The woman of the two humbly and rather graciously accepted my meager offering and took the liberty to pilfer my pitiful wares. The man part remained yonder while I watched her take the goods. I tried to make small talk about recycling but it felt so fucking false in the midst of her struggling to meet ends. Perhaps she was merely using my kicks to afford her own. They were white, so probably the case. Caucasians love them some hooch. As I awkwardly left the situation, she thanked me so honestly it made my heart hurt...after all, I didn't dump my junk in with the rest of the shit for them to sift through. Yeah, I'm a real fucking saint.
On my travel back to my cozy apartment with bills paid and grub in the icebox, I noticed they had not enough garbage bag room for my vacant treasures. I remarked and she said, 'We'll make do.' Of course you will. Look at you. Twice my age with a man as useless as any, picking through a students(they don't know the difference) plastics to survive for the day. Immediately my brain lit with fired contemplation: I should take them in and make them some food. Bet I have some clothes that'll fit her. Fuck him. Though stoic, what kind of a man allows his woman to do all the work in this homeless fucking charade? Oh yeah...ALL OF THEM. hahhahahahhahah.....ha. Or maybe her torrid drug addiction has ruined them both and here they stand in love and loss to make a few pennies and get fucked. Maybe they're not homeless and when I turn my back I'll get a nice garbage molded shiv in my back side. Well, they're bags are clearly bursting and I have a whole box of em in the homey home. I should grab them. What if they get offended? What if charity from someone such as myself, however homeless looking I may be, insults them? I don't want to hurt their already shitty day. Nobody thinks that lifestyle is ideal...even if you've never known any different. Maybe they're wealthy stock owners who pick bottles to save the earth. Maybe they'll use the bags I donate to suffocate baby ducks and then do a bunch of meth. Then I'll be responsible for so much destruction and unhappiness...and baby duck carcasses. Though I'm sure the bastards would then throw the bodies into the pond where their parents reside to witness the carnage and pain while doing it doggie-style on the gosling feathers that fell during the throttling. What if I grab them the box of bags and they follow me home, take everything I own and leave me for dead after doing it doggie-style atop pictures of my family?
What if they really appreciate the help, however minuscule?
I feel guilty that all i can give is a box o bags. Maybe i should donate them anonymously? Like put them on top of the recycling units and scurry away into the day. Getting credit for being nice is the antithesis of why someone should be kind. What if they don't see them and they go to waste? Then I've just littered like a pound of plastic into an already plastic rife wasteland. Fuck it. I'll put the box on something visible in their line of travel and hope they dig it. These thoughts all occurred in the thirty seconds it took me to grab the roll of bags and ditch them on a garbage bin down the alley. I. Freak. Who knew being sort of selfless was so gd exhausting. Don't know if they got em either...
Monday, December 16, 2013
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Growin' Up Is Hard to Do
I can be quite charming when I want to be. I have to be inspired. Damn you creative make-up!
I went to dance.
I went to move without restraint and to ignore. I like ignoring them. It feels like satisfaction.
I skipped by coat-check and breezed to the bathroom. Chipmunk bladder.
I was motivated. It felt right and I moved to the wood without fear. A little nervous maybe.
I could feel their eyes and then didn't care. I was lost. Gone. Freed and mobile. It was brief.
I spoke to someone I shouldn't have. She, without remorse, did her best to make me feel like nothing. When I confirmed for her her bias, I calculated sheepish humility and slight embarrassment on her chocolate cheeks. Then I bolted.
Smack dab into the chest of the Italian owner. And I mean Italian. He was short, greased thick hair, over fifty. He was turtle necked and blazer-d. Typical. Weird how I keep meeting real-life caricatures.
He would have given me everything I wanted for the rest of my life. I could tell by one glance in his catholic boy eyes...there is nothing that I would have asked for that would have been off limits. I was Helen Hunt to his Moe. You get it or you don't. Idiots.
I walked. Speedily away. There was a time in my younger days when I would have capitalized on this poor rube. I declined after a brief friendly chat and then proceeded to book it.
Black tears rolled down my face in secret privacy. Am I too old for this? Why must my morals prevent me from flailing madly on a dance floor? I would not have to sleep with him to get my way, he, after all, offered.
I don't know how to use my power for good. At least for personal gain. It makes me sick to play these games but you're all so easy. Goddamn is it simple to keep you morons on and on and on. I hate you.
I just went to dance.
I went to dance.
I went to move without restraint and to ignore. I like ignoring them. It feels like satisfaction.
I skipped by coat-check and breezed to the bathroom. Chipmunk bladder.
I was motivated. It felt right and I moved to the wood without fear. A little nervous maybe.
I could feel their eyes and then didn't care. I was lost. Gone. Freed and mobile. It was brief.
I spoke to someone I shouldn't have. She, without remorse, did her best to make me feel like nothing. When I confirmed for her her bias, I calculated sheepish humility and slight embarrassment on her chocolate cheeks. Then I bolted.
Smack dab into the chest of the Italian owner. And I mean Italian. He was short, greased thick hair, over fifty. He was turtle necked and blazer-d. Typical. Weird how I keep meeting real-life caricatures.
He would have given me everything I wanted for the rest of my life. I could tell by one glance in his catholic boy eyes...there is nothing that I would have asked for that would have been off limits. I was Helen Hunt to his Moe. You get it or you don't. Idiots.
I walked. Speedily away. There was a time in my younger days when I would have capitalized on this poor rube. I declined after a brief friendly chat and then proceeded to book it.
Black tears rolled down my face in secret privacy. Am I too old for this? Why must my morals prevent me from flailing madly on a dance floor? I would not have to sleep with him to get my way, he, after all, offered.
I don't know how to use my power for good. At least for personal gain. It makes me sick to play these games but you're all so easy. Goddamn is it simple to keep you morons on and on and on. I hate you.
I just went to dance.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Even the Chicks are Dicks
I had finally made a connection. She is from Taiwan...barely a word of proper English comes out of her but I can tell she gets it. We bonded over our inappropriate bouts of laughter, our hatred of others and our take on the opposite sex. For months. She began to hate her position and required a change. I understood though I was admittedly sad to see her go. Who would I relate to now? The receptionists are kinda cool but you just know those bitches are stabbing everything they have for you directly into your spinal column.
Her last day with me I bashfully kicked the ground whilst we shared the perpetual elevator that has both saved and plagued me. I spoke softly and with a smile and said, 'So, are ya gonna miss me?'
She paused briefly, made eye contact and plainly asked, 'What is there to miss?'
It's beautiful here and everybody sucks. Truly. I guess that's the balance. The bitter and the sweet. It's just odd to experience them at the same time. Usually one follows the other and overtime your perspective changes(hopefully), and you face less of the hardships and more of the beauty. It's a gorgeous thing being a witness to this creation. Lo, I would forever rather understand this world in all its uncomfortable hideousness than to buy into something that wasn't real or confirmed thusly. We know it when we see it people. Mayhaps i grow vigorously weary of the city life. I love the culture, the art, the infrastructure and the amenities. I miss community, connection, and the solidarity between a bunch of drunkards on a Sunday night after imbibing all day on a deck in the warm sun and cool breeze. I don't know where I belong yet and I can't bear the thought of going back. Everybody goes back soon enough and I always always feel sorry for them. Like something great and interesting about them is now lost forever. They gave up. I don't want to feel like I gave up. Ever.
I guess I'll always have the words.
Her last day with me I bashfully kicked the ground whilst we shared the perpetual elevator that has both saved and plagued me. I spoke softly and with a smile and said, 'So, are ya gonna miss me?'
She paused briefly, made eye contact and plainly asked, 'What is there to miss?'
It's beautiful here and everybody sucks. Truly. I guess that's the balance. The bitter and the sweet. It's just odd to experience them at the same time. Usually one follows the other and overtime your perspective changes(hopefully), and you face less of the hardships and more of the beauty. It's a gorgeous thing being a witness to this creation. Lo, I would forever rather understand this world in all its uncomfortable hideousness than to buy into something that wasn't real or confirmed thusly. We know it when we see it people. Mayhaps i grow vigorously weary of the city life. I love the culture, the art, the infrastructure and the amenities. I miss community, connection, and the solidarity between a bunch of drunkards on a Sunday night after imbibing all day on a deck in the warm sun and cool breeze. I don't know where I belong yet and I can't bear the thought of going back. Everybody goes back soon enough and I always always feel sorry for them. Like something great and interesting about them is now lost forever. They gave up. I don't want to feel like I gave up. Ever.
I guess I'll always have the words.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
A Bug's Life...
I bought a bottle of expensive liquor this eve to impress a boy. What silliness is this? I know better. I know better than to impress those unimpressible. You're not affected by anything other than your cocks and they are the most boring of all the appendages. Seriously fucking boring. Too small. Too lame. Never enough or what you thought they'd bring you. Save your effort girls...it makes no matter.
I was in the shower recently. It happens to the best of us. I turned in time to witness a large, creepy(they are all so) nothing but legs sort of creature in my bathtub. He made great strides in avoiding the tumultuous waves of soapy, tepid water; Crawling upwards behind the curtain I figured he had made it and briefly forgot about his struggle. A few bubbles and precious seconds later I see that he had lost his battle with my awesome water pressure and succumbed to the fierce tirade of H20. He fought briefly before I aided in his death. But the point of the matter....he fought. He did not go gentle into the good night but battled against the dying of the light. Why? He was a fucking arachnid not like any other born 350 million years ago. How many have existed in that time...unimaginable. Yet, he wrestled with his death like it meant something. Perhaps only to his fifty thousand new borns back home or for the love of a good arachnid woman he once knew many a millennium before. In the face of the abyss he or I suppose, she, disputed with great vigor its untimely and surprised end. A bug. A creature so tiny and insignificant we squash and wash them down tub drains. Its skirmish with the black cloaked devil ended in defeat and I witnessed the endeavor. Where do we fit in to that scheme? Would I fight with such tenacity? Would I realize the imminent end and continue the struggle til my last breath evaded me? Who knows what we're all capable of.
If a spider can look death in the eye and for whatever reason tell silence itself to go fuck itself...how will I find myself in such an instance? Will I have the wherewithal to defend my existence so furtively? I sure as fuck hope so.
I was in the shower recently. It happens to the best of us. I turned in time to witness a large, creepy(they are all so) nothing but legs sort of creature in my bathtub. He made great strides in avoiding the tumultuous waves of soapy, tepid water; Crawling upwards behind the curtain I figured he had made it and briefly forgot about his struggle. A few bubbles and precious seconds later I see that he had lost his battle with my awesome water pressure and succumbed to the fierce tirade of H20. He fought briefly before I aided in his death. But the point of the matter....he fought. He did not go gentle into the good night but battled against the dying of the light. Why? He was a fucking arachnid not like any other born 350 million years ago. How many have existed in that time...unimaginable. Yet, he wrestled with his death like it meant something. Perhaps only to his fifty thousand new borns back home or for the love of a good arachnid woman he once knew many a millennium before. In the face of the abyss he or I suppose, she, disputed with great vigor its untimely and surprised end. A bug. A creature so tiny and insignificant we squash and wash them down tub drains. Its skirmish with the black cloaked devil ended in defeat and I witnessed the endeavor. Where do we fit in to that scheme? Would I fight with such tenacity? Would I realize the imminent end and continue the struggle til my last breath evaded me? Who knows what we're all capable of.
If a spider can look death in the eye and for whatever reason tell silence itself to go fuck itself...how will I find myself in such an instance? Will I have the wherewithal to defend my existence so furtively? I sure as fuck hope so.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Dream Girl
I'm alive. That should be enough. I exist and know this to be fact, at least in my limited consciousness. Not sure why but that should also be enough. What does a person do when they are dreamless? Not nightie-night sleepy time dreams but the kind that held you together through the nightmare of invisibility that is high school or the one that made you feel real all throughout your twenties. I don't know where to put my efforts anymore. Where do i place my hope and longing for things better?
It's raining still and I didn't go to work. I couldn't quite see the point. I mean, I see the point in that I require money to function in this ridiculousness we call a society but otherwise, really? What purpose does me going to work serve? Everyone drives me nuts. My family barely answers my calls anymore cuz I have nothing to say. I haven't made any friends here. Any attempt I make to foster relationships with those from my past haven't gone quite the way I was hoping for. Perhaps that's my problem. Having hope that my expectations will fulfill themselves is ludicrous. Crass. Absurd. My efforts to stimulate myself creatively have left me feeling even emptier. fuckthistown. The roles for woman here are garbage. And I'm not black so there's no market. I could go home I suppose. I get work there. I have friends there. Familia tires of me but they'd be a fuck of a lot closer. Oh and my romantic life is nonexistent so there's that as well. Not that being landlocked really opened any enchanting doors of eros.
This is why having a job was created you know. Less time for us creatively inclined types to think and stew in our own miserable juices.
I met a russian man. He is a caricature of himself. He knows his way around a pussy but can't stay hard. He has this killer body, no sense of humor and isn't very bright. I feel as though he wants to be but I cannot live on other peoples potential anymore. It's bullshit anyway. What you want to be ain't who you are son. Even the ones who strike a person as honest lie to retrieve what they want. Usually sex. I wish I could be motivated by something so simple. I had discourse with a brown guy and he said that the number one motivating factor for women in this life is stability. Ask enough questions, he said, and it all comes down to that. If that's the fucking answer, why aren't I blissful? Perhaps an afternoon filled with Tom Cruise, a spliff and popcorn will cure all my mental deficiencies. Save me Maverick!
It's raining still and I didn't go to work. I couldn't quite see the point. I mean, I see the point in that I require money to function in this ridiculousness we call a society but otherwise, really? What purpose does me going to work serve? Everyone drives me nuts. My family barely answers my calls anymore cuz I have nothing to say. I haven't made any friends here. Any attempt I make to foster relationships with those from my past haven't gone quite the way I was hoping for. Perhaps that's my problem. Having hope that my expectations will fulfill themselves is ludicrous. Crass. Absurd. My efforts to stimulate myself creatively have left me feeling even emptier. fuckthistown. The roles for woman here are garbage. And I'm not black so there's no market. I could go home I suppose. I get work there. I have friends there. Familia tires of me but they'd be a fuck of a lot closer. Oh and my romantic life is nonexistent so there's that as well. Not that being landlocked really opened any enchanting doors of eros.
This is why having a job was created you know. Less time for us creatively inclined types to think and stew in our own miserable juices.
I met a russian man. He is a caricature of himself. He knows his way around a pussy but can't stay hard. He has this killer body, no sense of humor and isn't very bright. I feel as though he wants to be but I cannot live on other peoples potential anymore. It's bullshit anyway. What you want to be ain't who you are son. Even the ones who strike a person as honest lie to retrieve what they want. Usually sex. I wish I could be motivated by something so simple. I had discourse with a brown guy and he said that the number one motivating factor for women in this life is stability. Ask enough questions, he said, and it all comes down to that. If that's the fucking answer, why aren't I blissful? Perhaps an afternoon filled with Tom Cruise, a spliff and popcorn will cure all my mental deficiencies. Save me Maverick!
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Let the Train Whistle Cry for You
I am the lonely train's horn blowing in the not too distant future. I lumber past but catch the eye of those involved. Large, untimely, and without remorse. I pass in the night with little notice and yet touching those open to hear the mournful cry. Always headed somewhere and nowhere all at once. no stopping. never resting. My brain knows not what the body does and yet it all connects in a mass of metal and screaming joints. The thick metal carcass travels abroad knowing fully it's all the same. They'll all be the same. Predictable. The troubled wind blows against my immensity. I strive against time itself. Searching, longing...meager. Mediocrity seems welcome relief after the travels I've seen. Something still amiss, I will trudge through the broken tracks and fallen timber. A heartbeat pulses in time with my increasing movement and I pass through yet another town of faces I've seen all too often before. They are mere remnants of myself; Facets of my own personality. Together, each a car of it's own yet all secured to the other. We'll come back someday, if we do not lose our way. Let the train whistle cry for you. Let it bring you back to where you belong...joined to the rest with iron and solder. We will remain unbreakable, unleashed and attached until time itself tears us from the other with rust and stoic grace.
Monday, September 16, 2013
Conversations with a Crazy Person
'Oh man, I must keep the water going in the shower for as long as possible to maximize the effect my expensive conditioner will have on my scalp and hair follicle.'
Totally. You do realize that every iota of water you've just wasted on 'maximizing your conditioner' would have accumulated enough in the few seconds you had it blasting heat and pressure on your back and neck to save a small village from walking 25 miles to get to a well....a well dug forty seven years ago, replete with disease, packed with dead and crawling insects, and much more mud than water....much more.
'I got this shit for free! Well, it was practically. It was on sale for half price and the manufacturers made a special extra large bottle so I got 50% more. Steal. Steal of a deal.'
The water's turned cold, you've been in too long. Did you know rats are excellent swimmers? I've seen one twice....a brown rat. Cute. Fearless. curious. Good combination, no?
'Did he have a nice smile?'
Why must everything be about boys? They are all the same you know...
'I know. But. I just like 'em.'
You sir, are obsessed. Or bored. Christ, keep busy. You have things to do, things to focus on.
'Yeah, but there could potentially be boys when we're focusing and you must have soft hair for when that happens. Even if it looks funny right now and I'll never quite understand your motives.'
No motive. Just trying to remind myself everyday that til it grows...you are not ready. A simple string on the finger, note on the fridge or hair on the head.
'You're a fucking weirdo.'
Takes one to know one.
Totally. You do realize that every iota of water you've just wasted on 'maximizing your conditioner' would have accumulated enough in the few seconds you had it blasting heat and pressure on your back and neck to save a small village from walking 25 miles to get to a well....a well dug forty seven years ago, replete with disease, packed with dead and crawling insects, and much more mud than water....much more.
'I got this shit for free! Well, it was practically. It was on sale for half price and the manufacturers made a special extra large bottle so I got 50% more. Steal. Steal of a deal.'
The water's turned cold, you've been in too long. Did you know rats are excellent swimmers? I've seen one twice....a brown rat. Cute. Fearless. curious. Good combination, no?
'Did he have a nice smile?'
Why must everything be about boys? They are all the same you know...
'I know. But. I just like 'em.'
You sir, are obsessed. Or bored. Christ, keep busy. You have things to do, things to focus on.
'Yeah, but there could potentially be boys when we're focusing and you must have soft hair for when that happens. Even if it looks funny right now and I'll never quite understand your motives.'
No motive. Just trying to remind myself everyday that til it grows...you are not ready. A simple string on the finger, note on the fridge or hair on the head.
'You're a fucking weirdo.'
Takes one to know one.
Friday, August 30, 2013
'JUST DON'T LOOK!'
Let us have a chat you and I. I'll do most of the talking but I'm female....it's part of my genetic makeup to be a better oral communicator than you. You. Are. Part. Of. This. You are part of the problem masking itself behind a self-righteous ideology of contempt for those you think lower on the sanctimony scale. This mask you wear appears honest in its message and truthful in its delivery. Au contraire mon frere. We cannot escape the truth of where our society is now. We idolize those that have not deserved it and forget those that do for a flashier headline. We are consumed by the medias message of beauty, success, passion and power. Look beyond. Look into yourself. The Simpsons writers in their timeless wisdom created a Halloween episode in which all of their towns mascots and iconic figures came to gigantic life and wreaked havoc on it's people...until! Paul Anka and his melodic message of 'Just Don't Look' saved the day. Do not pay attention to these people made famous and popular by sheer sex-crazed, violent or outlandish behavior. For generations we have created stars out of nothing more than by paying attention to them. That includes sitting cross-legged on your soap box preaching distaste and malice in their general direction while simultaneously promoting their behavior! If you are passionate about climate change, Preach! If you are concerned in the manner in which our farmers are being cut out of the picture for a more efficient yet toxic method of harvesting our meal, PREACH! You can choose to not participate. Or, you can further the Spearyruskardashahiltons of the world by spouting your message of truth attached to a picture of the whole contradictory mess. Telling people what not to pay attention to by posting pics of such examples is part of the problem. Right now I'm part of it too in reprimanding those that don't fucking get it. I'm too old and far too angry to sit idly by when I see a wrong that demands a right. You are not helping. You merely perpetuate the illusion of providing another way, another choice, a better alternative to us broken individuals. Alas, you merely provide a covert forum for more garbage and distraction. This is the only time I will speak of the idiots in the world who literally contribute less than nothing. They teach our kids that only your body matters in this world and to have a brain is counteractive. I didn't even know about the 'Achy Breaky Cyrus Mistaky' until I saw posts on ridiculous facebook about her behavior. I wish I didn't know who these people were. Unfortunately our times are about being connected to everyone everywhere all the time. That includes those who don't deserve our attention or support. Don't look. Stop giving your time and attention to ass-shaking, giant foam finger fucking, half nude idiocy. Even if you are trying to send a message about Syria while condemning the scantily clad exploits of Lady Gaga's latest trip to England(had to look that up to provide another example cuz who gives a shit about any of them), you are lending a hand to their ability to reach people. Maybe you don't know what you do. Maybe you are innocently trying to save the world through meme's and posts and the like. Why not spend less time watching the headlines? Make your own? Maybe this entry is self-righteous. Maybe I too am to blame for the state of where our priorities rest. Did I help to spawn Hannah Montana's career by listening to her dad's record when I was a kid? I let in the mournful sounds of insipid country and now this? This poor young woman attempting to make a name for herself by the only way she knows and sees how? Teach your fucking kids to stop looking. These people feed on attention and attention alone. Sure, if we stop looking, some crazy goddamn shit will transpire....and then eventually, cease to. Without our consent I do dare admit that this garbage would stop and we could go on worrying about the stuff that concerns us all. Focus on those you love and the things that make a difference. Combining truth with false behaviors only solidifies how far reaching this bullshit has become. Pull yourself out...mostly from your ass, and pay attention to reality. It's a far more entertaining distraction.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
A Success Story!
Air in my lungs. A full belly. Hard earned friendships, though few but so very cherished. Healthy family. A large and smooth shit first thing in the morning that leaves not a trace of its existence behind. I don't believe ambition is something we're born with. It's learned. Adapted. Then jammed down our throats as we age until our dreams are tainted nightmarish versions of happier times. Perhaps ambition isn't the term I yearn for...no, the word I'm searching for is harsher, colder, more cut-throat. The kind of sounding word that sticks in your throat and hurts on the way down. It's a positive thing to look for purpose. To desire. To have an appetite for things, anything, is crucial. Maybe it's just the type of ambition I'm trying to describe. We're told very early on to 'be somebody.' 'Be someone.' Aren't I? Do I need a career hawking wares to achieve 'someone' status? The status of having a title, a label, a neat box to fit into so when making small talk I can fit in? Ah, status. Perhaps that's the abhorred word I am hunting down. I have an old computer by today's standards. I love it. It craps out. Crashes sometimes. Slow as fuck. It always comes back and it serves the purpose I require of it. I don't need a new one because this one is old. It functions and that's all anyone needs. I refuse to buy in(literally cuz that's seemingly what's necessary to be acknowledged in our consumerist society). I refuse to replace that which could serve me still. Maybe I'm just getting old and my attachment to that which exists inanimately grows on me like moss on a shady river rock. I long for things, sure. I long to be a better person everyday. I long for other people to be better people....every fucking day. I make strides to do good. To be good. I don't want to be a part of the problem. I own enough slaves already with my six year old computer. Hopefully they died long ago of aids and I can dispose of at least one element of guilt. What?! I didn't give them the HIV.
I can't work retail/sales anymore. It's evil. Surely part of the problem if not the catalyst for most of life's unhappiness. We don't need to be shown what to buy. We need to stop buying. Stop buying in. A new system is required for all that nasty shit to dissipate and if I had the answer for fuck sake, I would share it with you all. I don't. So in the meantime, I choose not to buy what i don't need and trust me friends, I don't need a lot. If we had fewer choices to consume, we'd consume less. We'd be less traumatized when we went out into the world and even those I work against would benefit. It's true. With so many options in front of us, we buy less and feel more turmoil. We can't decide between 300 different olive oils so we choose none. Less choice would benefit us all. Especially when it comes to the products we don't actually need.
The nagging voice of R. Lee Ermey in my head dictates that I should 'BE MORE STUPID! DO MORE STUPID! GODDAMN SON, DON'T BE SO STUPID!' The baby-boomers didn't mean to leave us with this as their legacy but here we are. The women left the homes, the men, seem born emasculated and the children wander in a daze wondering how they can achieve all that they can to be the best darn so and so they can be. Don't be the best. Just do good. Do good everyday. Be good...everyday. Wet your appetite on them there crackers. I feel insatiable some days. Getting what I want all the time has made me this way. I've been spoiled and nothing I get will every sate me long. I am the hungriest of all hungryhungry hippos. I hate it. I spend time being grateful but always with the wanting more....more....MORE! I want to be settled in my joy. Not always looking for the next best thing, person, day. Just being good, doing good and accepting that being present in that is enough. I am a piece of kelp being tossed perpetually by an ocean wave against a sandy shore. Forever stretching out towards the sandy beach but as soon as I touch the earth the next wave picks me up and moves me up and away once more. I never leave this spot but I'm always moving. Going nowhere but a part of it all. There is calmness in that and great frustration. The goal I suppose is to merge the two and be grateful for whatever part I play, no matter it's degree of perceived prosperity.
I can't work retail/sales anymore. It's evil. Surely part of the problem if not the catalyst for most of life's unhappiness. We don't need to be shown what to buy. We need to stop buying. Stop buying in. A new system is required for all that nasty shit to dissipate and if I had the answer for fuck sake, I would share it with you all. I don't. So in the meantime, I choose not to buy what i don't need and trust me friends, I don't need a lot. If we had fewer choices to consume, we'd consume less. We'd be less traumatized when we went out into the world and even those I work against would benefit. It's true. With so many options in front of us, we buy less and feel more turmoil. We can't decide between 300 different olive oils so we choose none. Less choice would benefit us all. Especially when it comes to the products we don't actually need.
The nagging voice of R. Lee Ermey in my head dictates that I should 'BE MORE STUPID! DO MORE STUPID! GODDAMN SON, DON'T BE SO STUPID!' The baby-boomers didn't mean to leave us with this as their legacy but here we are. The women left the homes, the men, seem born emasculated and the children wander in a daze wondering how they can achieve all that they can to be the best darn so and so they can be. Don't be the best. Just do good. Do good everyday. Be good...everyday. Wet your appetite on them there crackers. I feel insatiable some days. Getting what I want all the time has made me this way. I've been spoiled and nothing I get will every sate me long. I am the hungriest of all hungryhungry hippos. I hate it. I spend time being grateful but always with the wanting more....more....MORE! I want to be settled in my joy. Not always looking for the next best thing, person, day. Just being good, doing good and accepting that being present in that is enough. I am a piece of kelp being tossed perpetually by an ocean wave against a sandy shore. Forever stretching out towards the sandy beach but as soon as I touch the earth the next wave picks me up and moves me up and away once more. I never leave this spot but I'm always moving. Going nowhere but a part of it all. There is calmness in that and great frustration. The goal I suppose is to merge the two and be grateful for whatever part I play, no matter it's degree of perceived prosperity.
Monday, July 22, 2013
On the River Fraser
I connected with someone today. I deem this note/blog worthy because of it's scarcity. We truly knew each other in that instant. Like we were once the same person and knew symbiotically the alcoves of one another's brain goo. He was a tugboat operator a hundred and fifty yards out across the river. I waved to him as hard and as expressively as I could muster; A giant smile plastered to my face as though I was a mere babe struggling to be recognized by someone, anyone. He smiled, I could tell, and waved back. His body language changed and he became instantly revived. I like having that effect on people. It's important to me. I haven't felt like I had the ability any longer, but there it was. unexpected. Real. Meeting people as an adult is way weird. Yah. Like, totally. You can't just speak to someone for a spell then ask them to be your friend. I guess, maybe....a coffee first? Is that what people do? Is that a thing that 'normal' people do. Seems odd to me. Contrived or...something.
A short time later, I was struck by a man flying a kite. Not physically, but on a definitive level of soul-dom. It was serene. A serene that permeated my inability to be present and filled me with wonder. I passed by without thanking him for the moment he inadvertently gave me. It felt weird not to but the fear of being socially awkward displaced my sense of well-being and I thought against it. Funny though...we met up later on down the path as I saved his kite from being blown away just as his string had snapped and the kite felt a brief moment of horrible, horrible freedom. So horrible. I thanked him for the enjoyment his colored wind tarp gave me and we walked and talked for a few minutes about the benefits of kite flying. We schlepped our separate ways, feeling good about existence. Seems like something I should try. 'Tis been awhile.
A short time later, I was struck by a man flying a kite. Not physically, but on a definitive level of soul-dom. It was serene. A serene that permeated my inability to be present and filled me with wonder. I passed by without thanking him for the moment he inadvertently gave me. It felt weird not to but the fear of being socially awkward displaced my sense of well-being and I thought against it. Funny though...we met up later on down the path as I saved his kite from being blown away just as his string had snapped and the kite felt a brief moment of horrible, horrible freedom. So horrible. I thanked him for the enjoyment his colored wind tarp gave me and we walked and talked for a few minutes about the benefits of kite flying. We schlepped our separate ways, feeling good about existence. Seems like something I should try. 'Tis been awhile.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Suppose Tuh's
We were suppose to be in love. We were suppose to be best friends. Does being thirty eliminate me from calling someone a 'best friend'? Probably. We were suppose to sit out on our beautiful balcony overlooking the pool, the trees, the hummingbirds, and ponder over a beer or two. We were suppose to enjoy this gorgeous weather together; Playing badminton in the cool evenings and planning trips to Seattle where we would most surely see a band or two...maybe catch a baseball match. We were suppose to do a lot of things. Now we're just a Vancouver Divorce.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
I Know You
I've seen you before, ya know. I've smelt the sour stench of your falsities. I've gorged on the putrid pile of your flesh and have always come up wanting. You want me until I don't give you what you want, then onto the next that will tolerate your meagerness. I know you. I've met you before in others.
I was different once.
I use to hide this. I use to scour the earth for hidy-holes large enough to fit my nonsense in. Sometimes it wouldn't all fit and I'd have to sit a top it all...legs crossed, looking nonchalant, hiding nothing but embarrassment and shame. I shouldn't feel this guilt any longer, for I have done nothing wrong. Nor have you. No blame. No guilt. It is your fault I am this way, however. 'Your', in the general sense, for you are all intrinsically identical. Dissimilar packages in similar components. I would never admit what I was feeling when I was treated so very poorly by your kind. I would swallow it. I would bury it. I would accept that this treatment was as good as it would get for me. No more. I SAID, NO MORE.
I've thought in the past that because we are women- the weak gatherers who silently run the household/world whilst our bumbling lovers think they have the control- we are made to swallow it. Created to receive what they dish out with gentle good humor. 'Boys will be boys.' Fuck. That. They want their cake and to fuck it too. Then if we've grown balls enough to speak up about our minds and delicate sensibilities, we are immediately thrust into the spotlight of ridicule and pointed appendages...err, fingers. I am not crazy. I am not irrational. I am not jealous. I am not going to sit by and fucking take your bullshit as so many women before me have. All of my past relationships have failed. Yours? Common denominator? I see.
You say such astounding things. My breath has literally caught in my throat, I've been so overwhelmed by the manner in which you convey your love to me. That is undeniable. The other side of this unending sided bitch goddess, is that your actions are void of...action. Well, not entirely true. They speak encyclopedias to other women. So. Many. Other. Women. You've lied. You've cheated. You've done anything in your power not to be found. How am I the one who changes this? I don't think I fucking am. People don't change. They get old and lazy. Weary of the chase. Tired of the expanse amount of energy necessary to maintain a facade long enough to get laid. So, her I sit. Last one standing. Open arms and tear filled eyes. Hoping for a heart that I could never possess. You won't allow it.
They want it all. As do I. The sex addict who only gets off on your cock. The librarian who masters physics and only gets off on your cock. The saint who rescues burning kittens from a blaze and only, ever, gets off, on your cock. The buddy who can chug a beer and crudely suck the cock only ever meant for her in the washroom while onlookers gaze lecherously from the urinals. What are you to me? Do you offer this? Is any of that even on the table? Of course not. You want the little woman at home pining and yearning and waiting with breath held til your return when she can prove her longing for you with a nice good cock suck, while you have a myriad woman pawing at you on your nightly visits to the depths of hell. Well, you can suck my cock. Yeah, I've grown a big fat dick and we've decided we'll be perfectly happy together. I shall ride my penis off into the sunset. Enjoy your empty ego trips, for I require more. HI-HO SILVER!
I was different once.
I use to hide this. I use to scour the earth for hidy-holes large enough to fit my nonsense in. Sometimes it wouldn't all fit and I'd have to sit a top it all...legs crossed, looking nonchalant, hiding nothing but embarrassment and shame. I shouldn't feel this guilt any longer, for I have done nothing wrong. Nor have you. No blame. No guilt. It is your fault I am this way, however. 'Your', in the general sense, for you are all intrinsically identical. Dissimilar packages in similar components. I would never admit what I was feeling when I was treated so very poorly by your kind. I would swallow it. I would bury it. I would accept that this treatment was as good as it would get for me. No more. I SAID, NO MORE.
I've thought in the past that because we are women- the weak gatherers who silently run the household/world whilst our bumbling lovers think they have the control- we are made to swallow it. Created to receive what they dish out with gentle good humor. 'Boys will be boys.' Fuck. That. They want their cake and to fuck it too. Then if we've grown balls enough to speak up about our minds and delicate sensibilities, we are immediately thrust into the spotlight of ridicule and pointed appendages...err, fingers. I am not crazy. I am not irrational. I am not jealous. I am not going to sit by and fucking take your bullshit as so many women before me have. All of my past relationships have failed. Yours? Common denominator? I see.
You say such astounding things. My breath has literally caught in my throat, I've been so overwhelmed by the manner in which you convey your love to me. That is undeniable. The other side of this unending sided bitch goddess, is that your actions are void of...action. Well, not entirely true. They speak encyclopedias to other women. So. Many. Other. Women. You've lied. You've cheated. You've done anything in your power not to be found. How am I the one who changes this? I don't think I fucking am. People don't change. They get old and lazy. Weary of the chase. Tired of the expanse amount of energy necessary to maintain a facade long enough to get laid. So, her I sit. Last one standing. Open arms and tear filled eyes. Hoping for a heart that I could never possess. You won't allow it.
They want it all. As do I. The sex addict who only gets off on your cock. The librarian who masters physics and only gets off on your cock. The saint who rescues burning kittens from a blaze and only, ever, gets off, on your cock. The buddy who can chug a beer and crudely suck the cock only ever meant for her in the washroom while onlookers gaze lecherously from the urinals. What are you to me? Do you offer this? Is any of that even on the table? Of course not. You want the little woman at home pining and yearning and waiting with breath held til your return when she can prove her longing for you with a nice good cock suck, while you have a myriad woman pawing at you on your nightly visits to the depths of hell. Well, you can suck my cock. Yeah, I've grown a big fat dick and we've decided we'll be perfectly happy together. I shall ride my penis off into the sunset. Enjoy your empty ego trips, for I require more. HI-HO SILVER!
Scratching Posts
Why romance one another at all, if it all just goes away in the end. Why try? At first there are love songs, poetry....effort! Then nothing. Nope. Worse than nothing...self loathing, hatred of the sight of one another... and silence.
Do you think me odd if I sniff his glass when he's gone? Ain't no sunshine when he's gone, ain't no liquor when we're through? Better not...there are rules that require a followin'. Rules man, rules like....well, I don't rightly know what the rules are in a situation like this. What happens when two people give up on trying to make it work but have to live together? I guess 'have to' and no other option seem valid presently. I ain't leaving. That would be a new record for me ya know....three moves in less than six months. Terrible. Horrifyingly dreadful more like it. We've created such a mine field for love that nothing grows anymore. We won't let it. The first sign of green and the screaming begins. We said things that will not be taken back. Even if they were, they couldn't be. Now we live as voluntary prisoners in a beautiful place with frustrated insurgents. They creep in all stealth like then bomb the place to hell. Messy fucking raw wounds are all that remain.
I see couples holding hands. Fuck does that ever always get me. They stroll about town with peaceful, knowing smirks....incapable of being affected by anything but one another. Thrown by little and horny as all get out. All you need is love remember....and separate zip codes.
We should have gotten scratching posts. When things began to turn south, we could have each retired to our carpet covered kitty logs and sunk into them for a time instead of the other.
I was a bird in a cage; Too afraid to flit about or even touch the ground. I sat perched, waiting for his attention; For a look or word that never came. One day the cage broke free from it's tether to the ceiling and I came crashing down inside it. No physical injury to be found. The amount of brain damage incurred however was insurmountable. Now I sit in this broken, bent, and mangled cage with my broken, bent and mangled mind. Just sitting. Not leaving. Barely breathing. Alone.
I am without my best friend, my lover. We are roommates until other arrangements can be made. All of the hard times out-weighed the good and all our words were misunderstood. I put too much in of myself. Like every man needs to save my life. I store all of the things I see in myself in the other, hoping to have it returned to me. I want it returned. It doesn't happen so. I give 'til I'm dry and sore and done. I've determined life is an extended trip on a train. Always moving forward and onward. A few stops here and there to stretch and grab a snack, maybe have a conversation. Connect. Then off again. There is only one direction this train moves in and that's the one towards death. There is no going back. Even if the one, true thing you were meant to do in this life was two miles back and you didn't capitalize...oh well. It's gone. It's done. What's next. Sickness and desertion permeates this fucking train. Someone open a window, this heartache is stifling.
We've created such an impossible environment for love and connection to grow, let alone prosper. It seems inconceivable to meet anyone anymore in any capacity as the whole world is constantly plugged in. I'm part of the problem. Here I write on a computer instead of talking it out with another human being. I watch people on trains who don't speak to one another. Barely glance at the other. All on their cell phones, iPods. Every second we grow closer to the great beyond and I long to share my passion of this world with someone. How can I when we're all so obsessed with social media and the technological world? How do you remove people from the matrix without Keanu! Conversation is rendered obsolete when you can text and call and escape. Technology is a tool, not life itself. I suppose it starts with me. I'll do my best to set an example and that's it. What else is there if not effort?
Do you think me odd if I sniff his glass when he's gone? Ain't no sunshine when he's gone, ain't no liquor when we're through? Better not...there are rules that require a followin'. Rules man, rules like....well, I don't rightly know what the rules are in a situation like this. What happens when two people give up on trying to make it work but have to live together? I guess 'have to' and no other option seem valid presently. I ain't leaving. That would be a new record for me ya know....three moves in less than six months. Terrible. Horrifyingly dreadful more like it. We've created such a mine field for love that nothing grows anymore. We won't let it. The first sign of green and the screaming begins. We said things that will not be taken back. Even if they were, they couldn't be. Now we live as voluntary prisoners in a beautiful place with frustrated insurgents. They creep in all stealth like then bomb the place to hell. Messy fucking raw wounds are all that remain.
I see couples holding hands. Fuck does that ever always get me. They stroll about town with peaceful, knowing smirks....incapable of being affected by anything but one another. Thrown by little and horny as all get out. All you need is love remember....and separate zip codes.
We should have gotten scratching posts. When things began to turn south, we could have each retired to our carpet covered kitty logs and sunk into them for a time instead of the other.
I was a bird in a cage; Too afraid to flit about or even touch the ground. I sat perched, waiting for his attention; For a look or word that never came. One day the cage broke free from it's tether to the ceiling and I came crashing down inside it. No physical injury to be found. The amount of brain damage incurred however was insurmountable. Now I sit in this broken, bent, and mangled cage with my broken, bent and mangled mind. Just sitting. Not leaving. Barely breathing. Alone.
I am without my best friend, my lover. We are roommates until other arrangements can be made. All of the hard times out-weighed the good and all our words were misunderstood. I put too much in of myself. Like every man needs to save my life. I store all of the things I see in myself in the other, hoping to have it returned to me. I want it returned. It doesn't happen so. I give 'til I'm dry and sore and done. I've determined life is an extended trip on a train. Always moving forward and onward. A few stops here and there to stretch and grab a snack, maybe have a conversation. Connect. Then off again. There is only one direction this train moves in and that's the one towards death. There is no going back. Even if the one, true thing you were meant to do in this life was two miles back and you didn't capitalize...oh well. It's gone. It's done. What's next. Sickness and desertion permeates this fucking train. Someone open a window, this heartache is stifling.
We've created such an impossible environment for love and connection to grow, let alone prosper. It seems inconceivable to meet anyone anymore in any capacity as the whole world is constantly plugged in. I'm part of the problem. Here I write on a computer instead of talking it out with another human being. I watch people on trains who don't speak to one another. Barely glance at the other. All on their cell phones, iPods. Every second we grow closer to the great beyond and I long to share my passion of this world with someone. How can I when we're all so obsessed with social media and the technological world? How do you remove people from the matrix without Keanu! Conversation is rendered obsolete when you can text and call and escape. Technology is a tool, not life itself. I suppose it starts with me. I'll do my best to set an example and that's it. What else is there if not effort?
Saturday, June 1, 2013
The words you speak today...
...should be soft and tender, for tomorrow you may have to eat them. This also applies to action...allow me to illustrate.
I moved to Surrey, British Columbia a few months ago. Worst decision ever. I moved in to the basement of a man whose two giant ill-treated, verbally abused, and neglected dogs barked night and all the live-long day. They barked at me when I moved inside the 'apartment'. They barked at passers-by. They barked when their own owners came home then whined for hours til the assholes finally paid them the littlest bit of attention. There was literally not a single iota of insulation between myself and the prick above. I heard every tirade he went on about, every phone call, every fuck session(luckily he spared me these a mere few times a month). His dogs ended up giving me fleas. I paid my rent on time. I was as quiet and respectful as I could be. I gave him a months notice of my intent to vacate after only stomaching the place for 30 days. So for an extra month I endured without complaint being uttered from my lips to his fucking ears.
Mercifully I found somewhere else, resigned my keys to the bastard with the hopes of seeing my damage deposit which he assured me would be coming my way after he viewed the place without my belongings. I left that place spotless even after it took Jesse and I two days to get it to the point of being remotely livable. A couple weeks went by and I called the son of a bitch. No answer. Left messages, texts, and called his wife. Finally, anus tart responds via a text stating that he's sent the moola along with some mail of mine. Perfect. I can forget this terrible experience....put it all behind me and move the fuck on. Two weeks go by, nothing. So the calling and texting begin again, meanwhile me still giving super fuck the benefit of the doubt. His wife answers eventually. 'Well Rhandi, if shitbird says he sent it then I don't see any reason why he wouldn't. I'll talk to him.' Next day rolls around and she frantically calls me exclaiming that the 'money was sitting in an envelope on their table and oh my god we are so sorry and we are going to courier it to you on Thursday!' Well, that seemed believable so I wait....again. Why would she go through the trouble of that ridiculous story and expressive telling of it if it weren't true? Right? RIGHT!? No money comes. So being the passive agitator that I am begin writing them letters. Stern yet gently worded as to not offend. I did my best to manipulate the tards. To no avail. They probably weren't read and if they were, not understood.
More than a month goes by like this and Jesse suggests we go over there and talk to fuckboat. Totally. That'll work. He's a reasonable adult, this could totally work. This should totally work. I walk up to the landlord from hell and politely ask if we may have a brief friendly chat. Instantly he appears irritable and responds rather aggressively. Thinking I could calm the situation as Jesse remains off the property by his car, I proceed in my most calming yet assertive tone. Motherfucker attempts to sick his dog on me who runs out the door with his tail between his legs, takes one look at me, and books it back inside. Laughable really if I wasn't afraid of the rather large and angered man standing before me. He threatens to throw 'shit water' on me, and calls me a liar all the while threatening me with his larger than life physical presence and booming voice. Worst Landlord ever proceeds to call the cops on me for trespassing as I proceed to sit on his lawn in peaceful protest singing 'Give Peace a Chance.' BastardDick screams and threatens and does all the things that a frightened animal would do in a situation where it feels cornered and incorrect yet unable to admit so. He was in the wrong. He was doing wrong. He could have avoided all of this had he just returned money to me that was not in his rights to keep. I could have also saved myself such trouble by letting it go. I wanted to right this wrong. Triumphant horns were sounding in my head on behalf of tenants everywhere for all of the misdeeds done to them by greedy landlord lizards. My mistake.
My mistake big time.
He comes screaming out of his house, head butts Jesse in the mouth, screeching that he tripped. I call 911. This I do not take lightly. We leave the property. Cops come. I feel stupid, ashamed that I let things get so far and so terrible that Jesse got hurt in my quest for satisfaction. So, by law...i am forced to drop it. Fine. Whatever. Ending in a terrible mess that I could have avoided by simply understanding that you can't reason with an animal who has something of yours. Bullies survive on bullying, not by conceding by means of discourse and then snacking on milk and cookies. Lesson learned. But wait! There's more. Of course there is fucking more.
I recently got a new job. They require a criminal record check before I can proceed with the company. Cool. No prob. Sixty bucks!? Ok. The paperwork comes back to me and what do I see? I have a 'negative history' with the RCMP. Why? I was trespassing on that piece of shit's property. I was civil. I sat on his lawn singing The Beatles but it was HIS lawn. He called the cops, they recorded it and now my chances of keeping this job are slim. I won't be able to volunteer at the animal shelter because no one will accept someone with a history such as mine. So one lapse in judgement trying to do the moral thing and retrieve my fucking money from an evil, retarded man and I may never get to do the type of work I want. Lesson learned kids; Never try. I believe in love and beauty and nurturing one another and the like. I did nothing wrong to this man except confront him when he did me wrong and I am the one to be punished. There are people who rape, maim, and litter. Fuck I hate people who litter. There are corrupt CEO's that have plunged our world into despair, disconnect and disarray but I can't volunteer to pet puppies because I amicably attempted to stand up for myself. This world is super fucked. I suppose I have no one to blame but myself. Wonder if those CEO's have as much trouble sleeping as I do.
Post Script - Did you know that in Afghanistan their police force keeps twelve year old boys around their compounds to fuck? It's common knowledge and practice. I step on some dickholes lawn to talk to him and I get a criminal record. Priorities people. Guess if I'm labeled as such I should start diddling little dudes. When in Afghanistan....
I moved to Surrey, British Columbia a few months ago. Worst decision ever. I moved in to the basement of a man whose two giant ill-treated, verbally abused, and neglected dogs barked night and all the live-long day. They barked at me when I moved inside the 'apartment'. They barked at passers-by. They barked when their own owners came home then whined for hours til the assholes finally paid them the littlest bit of attention. There was literally not a single iota of insulation between myself and the prick above. I heard every tirade he went on about, every phone call, every fuck session(luckily he spared me these a mere few times a month). His dogs ended up giving me fleas. I paid my rent on time. I was as quiet and respectful as I could be. I gave him a months notice of my intent to vacate after only stomaching the place for 30 days. So for an extra month I endured without complaint being uttered from my lips to his fucking ears.
Mercifully I found somewhere else, resigned my keys to the bastard with the hopes of seeing my damage deposit which he assured me would be coming my way after he viewed the place without my belongings. I left that place spotless even after it took Jesse and I two days to get it to the point of being remotely livable. A couple weeks went by and I called the son of a bitch. No answer. Left messages, texts, and called his wife. Finally, anus tart responds via a text stating that he's sent the moola along with some mail of mine. Perfect. I can forget this terrible experience....put it all behind me and move the fuck on. Two weeks go by, nothing. So the calling and texting begin again, meanwhile me still giving super fuck the benefit of the doubt. His wife answers eventually. 'Well Rhandi, if shitbird says he sent it then I don't see any reason why he wouldn't. I'll talk to him.' Next day rolls around and she frantically calls me exclaiming that the 'money was sitting in an envelope on their table and oh my god we are so sorry and we are going to courier it to you on Thursday!' Well, that seemed believable so I wait....again. Why would she go through the trouble of that ridiculous story and expressive telling of it if it weren't true? Right? RIGHT!? No money comes. So being the passive agitator that I am begin writing them letters. Stern yet gently worded as to not offend. I did my best to manipulate the tards. To no avail. They probably weren't read and if they were, not understood.
More than a month goes by like this and Jesse suggests we go over there and talk to fuckboat. Totally. That'll work. He's a reasonable adult, this could totally work. This should totally work. I walk up to the landlord from hell and politely ask if we may have a brief friendly chat. Instantly he appears irritable and responds rather aggressively. Thinking I could calm the situation as Jesse remains off the property by his car, I proceed in my most calming yet assertive tone. Motherfucker attempts to sick his dog on me who runs out the door with his tail between his legs, takes one look at me, and books it back inside. Laughable really if I wasn't afraid of the rather large and angered man standing before me. He threatens to throw 'shit water' on me, and calls me a liar all the while threatening me with his larger than life physical presence and booming voice. Worst Landlord ever proceeds to call the cops on me for trespassing as I proceed to sit on his lawn in peaceful protest singing 'Give Peace a Chance.' BastardDick screams and threatens and does all the things that a frightened animal would do in a situation where it feels cornered and incorrect yet unable to admit so. He was in the wrong. He was doing wrong. He could have avoided all of this had he just returned money to me that was not in his rights to keep. I could have also saved myself such trouble by letting it go. I wanted to right this wrong. Triumphant horns were sounding in my head on behalf of tenants everywhere for all of the misdeeds done to them by greedy landlord lizards. My mistake.
My mistake big time.
He comes screaming out of his house, head butts Jesse in the mouth, screeching that he tripped. I call 911. This I do not take lightly. We leave the property. Cops come. I feel stupid, ashamed that I let things get so far and so terrible that Jesse got hurt in my quest for satisfaction. So, by law...i am forced to drop it. Fine. Whatever. Ending in a terrible mess that I could have avoided by simply understanding that you can't reason with an animal who has something of yours. Bullies survive on bullying, not by conceding by means of discourse and then snacking on milk and cookies. Lesson learned. But wait! There's more. Of course there is fucking more.
I recently got a new job. They require a criminal record check before I can proceed with the company. Cool. No prob. Sixty bucks!? Ok. The paperwork comes back to me and what do I see? I have a 'negative history' with the RCMP. Why? I was trespassing on that piece of shit's property. I was civil. I sat on his lawn singing The Beatles but it was HIS lawn. He called the cops, they recorded it and now my chances of keeping this job are slim. I won't be able to volunteer at the animal shelter because no one will accept someone with a history such as mine. So one lapse in judgement trying to do the moral thing and retrieve my fucking money from an evil, retarded man and I may never get to do the type of work I want. Lesson learned kids; Never try. I believe in love and beauty and nurturing one another and the like. I did nothing wrong to this man except confront him when he did me wrong and I am the one to be punished. There are people who rape, maim, and litter. Fuck I hate people who litter. There are corrupt CEO's that have plunged our world into despair, disconnect and disarray but I can't volunteer to pet puppies because I amicably attempted to stand up for myself. This world is super fucked. I suppose I have no one to blame but myself. Wonder if those CEO's have as much trouble sleeping as I do.
Post Script - Did you know that in Afghanistan their police force keeps twelve year old boys around their compounds to fuck? It's common knowledge and practice. I step on some dickholes lawn to talk to him and I get a criminal record. Priorities people. Guess if I'm labeled as such I should start diddling little dudes. When in Afghanistan....
Monday, May 13, 2013
Confinement Part Deux
My uncle is a brilliant and beautiful genius....and not the one that just died. I should feel something about that other than, weird...he's gone. My fault perhaps for not pursuing a relationship of any kind with him in the last ten years. And his. He was older after all and now he's doggone long gone. Anyhoo,
My other uncle. The one who has stated quite clearly that relationships should only last three months. What brilliance. I am not made for this. I am not made to respond as an adult would in an adult situation to a child. Men are children. Giant forgetful babies that refuse reason and compromise. I am better alone. Read into that what you will...and then fuck off. Being with someone so similar has made me hate myself. I see all of the ridiculous bullshit I pull displayed right in front of me and it makes me want to stop existing. I want to pull out every fiber of my hair so hard and for so long that it never grows back. I want to grate off my own face skin and make a sandwich of it for the homeless. They like sandwiches.
Fuck you. Fuck you a thousand times you disappointing motherfucker piece of shit. You are not right. I refuse fault. I want to laugh in your face every day for the rest of my life. Fucking hell I get angry. I decide I'm right and that's the end of that. rational. I can't do this. Every day I feel as though I can't do this. Maybe it's that I don't want this. I don't want it so I make it so through passive aggression and flippancy.
i am too stubborn for another. i am too stubborn to be around or participate with others.
Leave me alone! That goes for the lot of you. Don't weep for me either. That is not what this is about. Being alone isn't the easy choice. People who haven't been alone think in this manner. Such is not the case. Being alone. Truly alone. The hardest thing in the world. You choose to be ousted from the herd. Loners in the wild are proven to die sooner than one the same age who has remained within. The scragglers look a fright and are without children or a mate. They seem to wander without purpose. Without enjoyment. There is no life in the eyes of the creature that chooses a life of solitude. And without complaint.
Post Script: Written after a screaming match several weeks ago, came across it in my travels...interesting...
My other uncle. The one who has stated quite clearly that relationships should only last three months. What brilliance. I am not made for this. I am not made to respond as an adult would in an adult situation to a child. Men are children. Giant forgetful babies that refuse reason and compromise. I am better alone. Read into that what you will...and then fuck off. Being with someone so similar has made me hate myself. I see all of the ridiculous bullshit I pull displayed right in front of me and it makes me want to stop existing. I want to pull out every fiber of my hair so hard and for so long that it never grows back. I want to grate off my own face skin and make a sandwich of it for the homeless. They like sandwiches.
Fuck you. Fuck you a thousand times you disappointing motherfucker piece of shit. You are not right. I refuse fault. I want to laugh in your face every day for the rest of my life. Fucking hell I get angry. I decide I'm right and that's the end of that. rational. I can't do this. Every day I feel as though I can't do this. Maybe it's that I don't want this. I don't want it so I make it so through passive aggression and flippancy.
i am too stubborn for another. i am too stubborn to be around or participate with others.
Leave me alone! That goes for the lot of you. Don't weep for me either. That is not what this is about. Being alone isn't the easy choice. People who haven't been alone think in this manner. Such is not the case. Being alone. Truly alone. The hardest thing in the world. You choose to be ousted from the herd. Loners in the wild are proven to die sooner than one the same age who has remained within. The scragglers look a fright and are without children or a mate. They seem to wander without purpose. Without enjoyment. There is no life in the eyes of the creature that chooses a life of solitude. And without complaint.
Post Script: Written after a screaming match several weeks ago, came across it in my travels...interesting...
Happiness and Sunshine
Moohoohaha....fooled you fuckers! I should stop calling my loyal and most studious fan base, fuckers. You like it though don't you, fuckers? yeah, you see how you scum.
'We should have broken up a year ago,' he says with a stern scowl. This is how it is...and this is how it goes. I did it. again. Fucked everything up and I have no one to blame. That's the worst. Well, and losing my best friend....that's bullshit too. Don't fall in love people. I will say it time and time again until breath fails me. Something funny. I miss touching him. Ha. Irony of being an awful human being sometimes is sooooo rich.
Don't you tell me what you think is right when you yourself exist only in shadows. How do people DO this? Is a blind eye turned at every turn? Do you just give the fuck up? Relent control; A constant capitulation of silent cacophony? Silent is right. Be berry berry quiet....you'll scare the wabbit. He never gets that goddamn hare. An entire life wasted on hunting for something unattainable and most elusive. I'm insane and it's your fault. At least until I get a handle on shit. Singledom is hard yet so much fucking easier. I thought I was through with accessible. Done with doubt. Down with the apparent.
Does everyone need sympathy? Am I capable of being empathetic? I am with animals. I thought this bird was hurt today and nearly strangled it attempting to 'save' it. What you see is what you get. I never hid myself. Loving is simple when you're in different time zones. You're single until every third months second weekend and then the loneliness is assuaged by copious drink, drug, fuck and fight. You know, love?
Why does eating a banana make your teeth furry?
I do my best to live moment to moment. Sometimes my brain says nonono, time to be sad. Let us think on sadness. Sometimes i get stuck there. Sometimes i choose to remain there with my little unhappy head friends. I always come back. I didn't always have these issues. I wasn't always so angry. There was a time when I gave freely with no expectation of return on my investments. Now. Now, i exist in hesitation in a darkened room alone. If I despise being alone so much why am i SO keen on making that my reality? Questions are good. Yes questions. Soothing really that I will always have those to keep me company. Oh, and musical genius. Grateful for that too. And birds. I like birds.
'We should have broken up a year ago,' he says with a stern scowl. This is how it is...and this is how it goes. I did it. again. Fucked everything up and I have no one to blame. That's the worst. Well, and losing my best friend....that's bullshit too. Don't fall in love people. I will say it time and time again until breath fails me. Something funny. I miss touching him. Ha. Irony of being an awful human being sometimes is sooooo rich.
Don't you tell me what you think is right when you yourself exist only in shadows. How do people DO this? Is a blind eye turned at every turn? Do you just give the fuck up? Relent control; A constant capitulation of silent cacophony? Silent is right. Be berry berry quiet....you'll scare the wabbit. He never gets that goddamn hare. An entire life wasted on hunting for something unattainable and most elusive. I'm insane and it's your fault. At least until I get a handle on shit. Singledom is hard yet so much fucking easier. I thought I was through with accessible. Done with doubt. Down with the apparent.
Does everyone need sympathy? Am I capable of being empathetic? I am with animals. I thought this bird was hurt today and nearly strangled it attempting to 'save' it. What you see is what you get. I never hid myself. Loving is simple when you're in different time zones. You're single until every third months second weekend and then the loneliness is assuaged by copious drink, drug, fuck and fight. You know, love?
Why does eating a banana make your teeth furry?
I do my best to live moment to moment. Sometimes my brain says nonono, time to be sad. Let us think on sadness. Sometimes i get stuck there. Sometimes i choose to remain there with my little unhappy head friends. I always come back. I didn't always have these issues. I wasn't always so angry. There was a time when I gave freely with no expectation of return on my investments. Now. Now, i exist in hesitation in a darkened room alone. If I despise being alone so much why am i SO keen on making that my reality? Questions are good. Yes questions. Soothing really that I will always have those to keep me company. Oh, and musical genius. Grateful for that too. And birds. I like birds.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Want Not
Someone else is living my life. Not sure when or where this phenomena took place but here we are. Here she is folks! The girl who once thought she'd be and do something great is just like the rest of you useless tits. A worker bee and nothing more. All bets and aspirations are off! Someone else invaded my peaceful existence and made everything shitty. Had to be someone else cuz why would anyone in their right fucking mind ever participate in this banality by choice? Everything is shitty. All I need now is cancer....and boy is it ever on it's way. My whole family is fast becoming worm food due to this bit of business and I'm sure my fate will sooner than later be sealed. Well, actually probably later cuz my cancer will be slow and arduous. It will go into several remissions leaving me perpetually bald and weak and inhuman. Then the mounds of fucking tumors will fill my lungs, leaving me in my last moments grasping for breath and asking for my mommy; Like when young soldiers get gut-shot and are readily bleeding to death on the cold and indifferent ground.
Who is this living my life right now? And why? Wake up. Do some stuff. Don't do some other stuff. Do more stuff. Time for bed. I feel so unfulfilled in lack of action and unfulfilled in any action taken. So then I question which choices am i making to allow such feelings of heaviness. I am so heavy. I feel weight pressing me more and more into the ground. no escape. I'm getting older and dumber day by day and the unfairness of this 'gift' is beginning to choke me out. I'm afraid to live but I can't keep going with the way things are. I'm afraid to try anything because I may not like it. There goes all that wasted time and energy and money. Then, lesson learned mind you, I'd be back where I started. I always come back to where I started because I think small and dream smaller and that's no one's fault but my own but fuck it and fuck you.
Fuck you.
A hummingbird drinks and Rhandi crys. I should also be suckling but instead i wallow in shallow waves of discontent and self hatred. And question. and rage. And live in my head til I feel like it's about to burst. Then i share this nonsense with another ego and everything else that I had built falls and crumbles to nothing. Yeah, I've been sad since I've arrived here. I have yet to make a true connection. Sure I'm a little guarded but who in adulthood isn't? We go through a lot of bullshit just to be here....sifting through other people is no different. I have no patience for these jobs I participate in anymore. I use to be able to assuage my soul's cry by repetition and the goals of other people. Maybe I have no goals and that's what makes me such a malcontent. Maybe my dreams are bigger than my reality, therefore I can't imagine them possibly coming to fruition. Perhaps 'achieving' something isn't all there is to living. Helps to be screamed to about it though.
I'm trying to live day by day and I continue to grow smaller and smaller until I fear I'll disappear. I was once visible and vibrant and ready. I use to be fearless. Nearing on reckless. Make a decision, boom. Action, boom. Now my 'booms' come from angry slamming doors and the pounding of my empty heart. I continue to refuse to accept that this is my life and maybe that's why nothing is changing. I thought beautiful events would occur and lead me to more of the same. Can that even happen when you don't know which way to go? Where to turn? Who to seek out? I fight against all of the inconsequential garbage I've built, like who I am and what the fucking point is, and now I have no time to do anything real. Anything of value has long ago left. For too long have I hated and raged and avoided who I am and what I've created. Now I look back at it: This empty thirty years of and in no particular order, lies, inaction, adoption, occasional decent person, scumbagscumbagscumbag, brief travel highlight, death, life, acting highlight, brief periods of action followed by me just returning to awful me. I have forgotten how to cultivate anything good. How do people do this? How do people live their lives with meaning and purpose and love? I would rather watch people live and love then acquire it for myself. I have it and I turn it to shit. Or it turns to shit cuz that's what happens. How can I be happy for someone else, excited for someone else when I feel this way?
I will never meet the standards i have set and revive daily. I want to come up for a wee bit of air but I don't know how and the what? Then fucking what? More cyclical treadmill of stupid wants and petty desires. I always thought i was here to do something special. To be someone special. I bet we all think that at one point. Well, those thoughts still bounce around in my big empty noggin but I've completely given up on meeting them. I had hope for things once. Now? I simply wash rinse and repeat...on to the next day to complete the same menial tasks that were accomplished the day before. Nothing changes. People stay the same and I'll continue to watch from my perch...not alone mind you, cuz my throbbing, raging cancerous tumors will fill in all the holes.
Who is this living my life right now? And why? Wake up. Do some stuff. Don't do some other stuff. Do more stuff. Time for bed. I feel so unfulfilled in lack of action and unfulfilled in any action taken. So then I question which choices am i making to allow such feelings of heaviness. I am so heavy. I feel weight pressing me more and more into the ground. no escape. I'm getting older and dumber day by day and the unfairness of this 'gift' is beginning to choke me out. I'm afraid to live but I can't keep going with the way things are. I'm afraid to try anything because I may not like it. There goes all that wasted time and energy and money. Then, lesson learned mind you, I'd be back where I started. I always come back to where I started because I think small and dream smaller and that's no one's fault but my own but fuck it and fuck you.
Fuck you.
A hummingbird drinks and Rhandi crys. I should also be suckling but instead i wallow in shallow waves of discontent and self hatred. And question. and rage. And live in my head til I feel like it's about to burst. Then i share this nonsense with another ego and everything else that I had built falls and crumbles to nothing. Yeah, I've been sad since I've arrived here. I have yet to make a true connection. Sure I'm a little guarded but who in adulthood isn't? We go through a lot of bullshit just to be here....sifting through other people is no different. I have no patience for these jobs I participate in anymore. I use to be able to assuage my soul's cry by repetition and the goals of other people. Maybe I have no goals and that's what makes me such a malcontent. Maybe my dreams are bigger than my reality, therefore I can't imagine them possibly coming to fruition. Perhaps 'achieving' something isn't all there is to living. Helps to be screamed to about it though.
I'm trying to live day by day and I continue to grow smaller and smaller until I fear I'll disappear. I was once visible and vibrant and ready. I use to be fearless. Nearing on reckless. Make a decision, boom. Action, boom. Now my 'booms' come from angry slamming doors and the pounding of my empty heart. I continue to refuse to accept that this is my life and maybe that's why nothing is changing. I thought beautiful events would occur and lead me to more of the same. Can that even happen when you don't know which way to go? Where to turn? Who to seek out? I fight against all of the inconsequential garbage I've built, like who I am and what the fucking point is, and now I have no time to do anything real. Anything of value has long ago left. For too long have I hated and raged and avoided who I am and what I've created. Now I look back at it: This empty thirty years of and in no particular order, lies, inaction, adoption, occasional decent person, scumbagscumbagscumbag, brief travel highlight, death, life, acting highlight, brief periods of action followed by me just returning to awful me. I have forgotten how to cultivate anything good. How do people do this? How do people live their lives with meaning and purpose and love? I would rather watch people live and love then acquire it for myself. I have it and I turn it to shit. Or it turns to shit cuz that's what happens. How can I be happy for someone else, excited for someone else when I feel this way?
I will never meet the standards i have set and revive daily. I want to come up for a wee bit of air but I don't know how and the what? Then fucking what? More cyclical treadmill of stupid wants and petty desires. I always thought i was here to do something special. To be someone special. I bet we all think that at one point. Well, those thoughts still bounce around in my big empty noggin but I've completely given up on meeting them. I had hope for things once. Now? I simply wash rinse and repeat...on to the next day to complete the same menial tasks that were accomplished the day before. Nothing changes. People stay the same and I'll continue to watch from my perch...not alone mind you, cuz my throbbing, raging cancerous tumors will fill in all the holes.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Poopypants McBoogerson
Tis I! I am thee! I thusly spread my poopypants mcboogers all through the lands. I am a thief of happy thoughts. I am the darkness which enters in ever so slowly only to shield itself from discovery and then WHAMMMMM-Oooo! I am an algorithm? Am i timeless piece of history only because others say so? Apparently....tiny yet even still....
I am reluctant towards most things. I think I hate everything. When did that happen? When did I allow that, THAT to take over? Take precedence. I am not listening to the right shit, pardon et moi................I got homework from fucking work today. What the fucking christ hell is that miserable bullshit? Seriously, what? Do people not understand that this job is not for me? Can they not see that I DO NOT belong there? I should be hissed at and spat upon post haste, shoved from out doorways immediately and cursed! Fucking cursed. What is wrong with our society that we have created a fucking occupation that requires us to not only stomach one another but the ingrates that frequent such establishments? What have we done to the lower class? They are slaves in green aprons and plastic smiles and hate in their hearts. We don't need this brown putrid 'luxury'. We don't this refined sugar and ingredients we cannot pronounce let alone synthesize in our own kitchens. I need something more than this. I need something that isn't lacking in soul and creativity. We are automatons. We are creepy units of mindless busywork so that we may distract the herd from their tragic little lives. Why must I pretend everyday of my life? Why?
I am in a new land. Newold. It's lonely here cuz I've forgotten how to meet decent people. You have to sift through so many fucking duds, it's exhausting. Crushing, even.
I forget why i do things. Always in my head I am. To the point of great confusion and occasional animosity.
I think I sprained my ankle on purpose so I wouldn't have to go to work at 5am. I fell so weird and fucked myself up so bad....a little too bad? Am I capable of that? Of course it was fully subconscious if so...what possibilities. Back to algorithms....I am a product of my past. Google told me so. My past choices have brought me thusly and I choose based on such. If man can make a fucking program that does this, why would it be inconceivable that we're not controlled by the very mechanism that produced us?
Why do i miss things I once despised? Why reverence when the moments passed? Is it a simple, 'don't know what ya got til it's gone' type bullshit? I'm much smarter than everyone I work with. Without question. Like, that's not even an ego boost....totally. Ugh.
I have friends dammit. They're far away.
I am reluctant towards most things. I think I hate everything. When did that happen? When did I allow that, THAT to take over? Take precedence. I am not listening to the right shit, pardon et moi................I got homework from fucking work today. What the fucking christ hell is that miserable bullshit? Seriously, what? Do people not understand that this job is not for me? Can they not see that I DO NOT belong there? I should be hissed at and spat upon post haste, shoved from out doorways immediately and cursed! Fucking cursed. What is wrong with our society that we have created a fucking occupation that requires us to not only stomach one another but the ingrates that frequent such establishments? What have we done to the lower class? They are slaves in green aprons and plastic smiles and hate in their hearts. We don't need this brown putrid 'luxury'. We don't this refined sugar and ingredients we cannot pronounce let alone synthesize in our own kitchens. I need something more than this. I need something that isn't lacking in soul and creativity. We are automatons. We are creepy units of mindless busywork so that we may distract the herd from their tragic little lives. Why must I pretend everyday of my life? Why?
I am in a new land. Newold. It's lonely here cuz I've forgotten how to meet decent people. You have to sift through so many fucking duds, it's exhausting. Crushing, even.
I forget why i do things. Always in my head I am. To the point of great confusion and occasional animosity.
I think I sprained my ankle on purpose so I wouldn't have to go to work at 5am. I fell so weird and fucked myself up so bad....a little too bad? Am I capable of that? Of course it was fully subconscious if so...what possibilities. Back to algorithms....I am a product of my past. Google told me so. My past choices have brought me thusly and I choose based on such. If man can make a fucking program that does this, why would it be inconceivable that we're not controlled by the very mechanism that produced us?
Why do i miss things I once despised? Why reverence when the moments passed? Is it a simple, 'don't know what ya got til it's gone' type bullshit? I'm much smarter than everyone I work with. Without question. Like, that's not even an ego boost....totally. Ugh.
I have friends dammit. They're far away.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Confinement
I am a solitary creature. She says with a smirk. That's a pretty final statement. solid. heavy. Pretty fucking true. 'No one ever did anything of note alone.' Really? The few people that could stand in their own yet not of the time that I truly adore and admire were all solemn in sordid solitary.
Who do I listen to?
My hatred for all wins out so frequently...should i be worried? and why? call me abnormal or absurd...
Perhaps I'm not evolved as once thought. Me mE and me and alone of course. Not said with sadness.
Then something kicks in and I'm a mess. I am not a bar person anymore. Never really was. Meeting people in those environments is badnews bears. So. Extra-curricular. Volunteer work. I don't want it to sound douche-like but that warms my heart to think of it. Meeting others would be a bonus? Still undecided on that one. Why am I afraid to meet people? Am I really so lost in the negativity of what that means. Well, could potentially mean.
What is an alcoholic? Truly. I know when I see it. I suppose it's a variety of things, really.
(It creeps me out knowing that at any moment someone could come through the door and then sleep in the same bed as me...it kind of bizarrely blows my mind.)
How do i get fully comfortable around someone! ...and not just to be a total bitch about it?!
Right, right...alcoholism.
I think death is necessary. That sounds silly. Of course it is. I just seem to find death easier to tolerate thinking of it in this manner. We spend our whole lives trying to figure out how to minimize the nasty and nurture the rest. It's all nasty. Things. things are like death. Little tombs we build up and around until one day we're sick and old and need to perish. I miss people that have died. Don't get me wrong.
I don't want to get to know his friends. Sure you can be friendly with them but it never really gets any deeper. How can it? You haven't put in the time and here you are sticking your face into a hand-picked family, expecting to be let in. Comfort around one another grows but nothing real is ever really shared.
Even when it is, it isn't.
Who do I listen to?
My hatred for all wins out so frequently...should i be worried? and why? call me abnormal or absurd...
Perhaps I'm not evolved as once thought. Me mE and me and alone of course. Not said with sadness.
Then something kicks in and I'm a mess. I am not a bar person anymore. Never really was. Meeting people in those environments is badnews bears. So. Extra-curricular. Volunteer work. I don't want it to sound douche-like but that warms my heart to think of it. Meeting others would be a bonus? Still undecided on that one. Why am I afraid to meet people? Am I really so lost in the negativity of what that means. Well, could potentially mean.
What is an alcoholic? Truly. I know when I see it. I suppose it's a variety of things, really.
(It creeps me out knowing that at any moment someone could come through the door and then sleep in the same bed as me...it kind of bizarrely blows my mind.)
How do i get fully comfortable around someone! ...and not just to be a total bitch about it?!
Right, right...alcoholism.
I think death is necessary. That sounds silly. Of course it is. I just seem to find death easier to tolerate thinking of it in this manner. We spend our whole lives trying to figure out how to minimize the nasty and nurture the rest. It's all nasty. Things. things are like death. Little tombs we build up and around until one day we're sick and old and need to perish. I miss people that have died. Don't get me wrong.
I don't want to get to know his friends. Sure you can be friendly with them but it never really gets any deeper. How can it? You haven't put in the time and here you are sticking your face into a hand-picked family, expecting to be let in. Comfort around one another grows but nothing real is ever really shared.
Even when it is, it isn't.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Love's Labor Lost
I chose Love. Actually, I like to think it chose me. Guess we'll never know....that's suppose to be the fun part, right? RIGHT!!! I struggle for control every day of my stinking life. Control over only that which cannot be controlled. I want. I long. I feel need, nay deserve. That sucks knowing you're a terrible person. Harsh. Not complete in it's entirety but! it's there. Isn't it exhausting.
I have been uncomfortable for months and I'm about ready to fold. Isn't that absurd? There are people whose lives are a mere shadowy wreckage of mine. I feel guilty for that statement too. Seriously though, I fucking have some really astounding things in my life and everyday I battle against seeing them. Acknowledging them. Succumbing to them. I drink. I drink to drink, I drink to drink. When a person is fucking jobless, it throws off the whole aesthetic of what drinking to drink means. I want an income so I can focus on being tortured instead of bored and alone and tortured. Sometimes I look at water and see it's potential to become liquor. I like her clear and cool, not cold. I don't mean to sound like a souse, and i know it's seemingly textbook. I am fully functional. That's the difference I think. Not hurting anyone with your hobbies nor distracting passers-by of their own ineptitude's in life for a moment while they witness you pissing in a bush. Hey! It happens...I'm sure of it.
I get confused as to who's talking. Not in a totally crazy way but between the master of ceremonies and the ring leader, I often get disoriented. They can get along but when they don't...utter chaos ensues. Will I be happy with my choices someday? I as well and in addition to feel, out of sorts. I don't feel like myself. Is that bad? Those two have some bizarre conversations sometimes. I'm tired of questioning if this is real or not so much. I'm sure I project a lot of bullshit onto the table but not all. Not all.
Can you have more than one of the Big Three exist simultaneously? What can I do to extend those times? I feel like I've made such a concerted effort to grip the good with gusto but nothing seems to be sticking. Am I getting more fearful? Is that possible? I should be mellowing in my growing years. Well, it sticks but not for long. Or maybe just a bunch of really shitty shit has been happening and my attitude about it all is the only thing holding me back. Perhaps I don't see the bigger picture, or that there isn't a picture, or that the picture is a mere figment of light refracting inside a highly intelligent computer. If we were computers, I'd be better at math.
Having dreams to be better is terrible. The worst. In fact, I daresay...the worst of the worst. The thought of going back to school for things I actually may want to do...a decade of life and any semblance of financial independence and stability would be a figment of a whisper of a dream. I don't think I could stay here though. Not where I am and be happy. I want to be someone others can look up to but never touch. Physically I mean cuz I hate other people. An adult paycheck would be nice. Ugh. Did my brain just admit to that? Sick man. Way. Selfish fucking goblins we are.
I have been uncomfortable for months and I'm about ready to fold. Isn't that absurd? There are people whose lives are a mere shadowy wreckage of mine. I feel guilty for that statement too. Seriously though, I fucking have some really astounding things in my life and everyday I battle against seeing them. Acknowledging them. Succumbing to them. I drink. I drink to drink, I drink to drink. When a person is fucking jobless, it throws off the whole aesthetic of what drinking to drink means. I want an income so I can focus on being tortured instead of bored and alone and tortured. Sometimes I look at water and see it's potential to become liquor. I like her clear and cool, not cold. I don't mean to sound like a souse, and i know it's seemingly textbook. I am fully functional. That's the difference I think. Not hurting anyone with your hobbies nor distracting passers-by of their own ineptitude's in life for a moment while they witness you pissing in a bush. Hey! It happens...I'm sure of it.
I get confused as to who's talking. Not in a totally crazy way but between the master of ceremonies and the ring leader, I often get disoriented. They can get along but when they don't...utter chaos ensues. Will I be happy with my choices someday? I as well and in addition to feel, out of sorts. I don't feel like myself. Is that bad? Those two have some bizarre conversations sometimes. I'm tired of questioning if this is real or not so much. I'm sure I project a lot of bullshit onto the table but not all. Not all.
Can you have more than one of the Big Three exist simultaneously? What can I do to extend those times? I feel like I've made such a concerted effort to grip the good with gusto but nothing seems to be sticking. Am I getting more fearful? Is that possible? I should be mellowing in my growing years. Well, it sticks but not for long. Or maybe just a bunch of really shitty shit has been happening and my attitude about it all is the only thing holding me back. Perhaps I don't see the bigger picture, or that there isn't a picture, or that the picture is a mere figment of light refracting inside a highly intelligent computer. If we were computers, I'd be better at math.
Having dreams to be better is terrible. The worst. In fact, I daresay...the worst of the worst. The thought of going back to school for things I actually may want to do...a decade of life and any semblance of financial independence and stability would be a figment of a whisper of a dream. I don't think I could stay here though. Not where I am and be happy. I want to be someone others can look up to but never touch. Physically I mean cuz I hate other people. An adult paycheck would be nice. Ugh. Did my brain just admit to that? Sick man. Way. Selfish fucking goblins we are.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
I don't feel like writing. In fact, I'm gonna crack a beer before I even begin...
Caribou Beer and Arcade fire suit me just fine....'gets me every time.' If it isn't one thing it's another. It never ends. I'm gonna learn some things tomorrow. Gonna feign interest in a conversation I should be interested in...like my life.
Dear Life,
I am not so interested in you right now.
P.S You can do better.
R
Is that all ego? To think better of yourself for certain things and not of in others? Money is money is MONey... is death. The pursuit of such nonsense beguiles me. Who am I competing with? Myself.....mostly. I've been sad lately. How much of feeling something is completely self induced? I don't feel at ease here...yet? It's like anywhere else, so why does it feel so foreign? I may be racist.
My skin itches for something. Always more. If there's no growth there's no money! If you don't eat yer meat.....! I quit a job after participating for eight hours. My participation consisted of annoyance, irritation, bemused aggravation. A sickness set into me during those allotted eight. I was at lost in a sea of ignorance and sloth. Gossip and solitude. Why would anyone do that to themselves? Make an environment so intolerable that nothing could survive? I had to get the fuck out of there. I need no drama. I create plenty enough without aid.
I've complicated things somehow. I wanted the time to blend a life I've led for the previous year to something new and exciting. Now I sleep all night and the live long day. My desires to pursue desires is all so undesirable. My taste for things is so fleeting. Perhaps I've led such a charmed life that when things don't go as planned, my interest wanes. Or I'm such a control freak that any step away from the previously ordained(by me) throws me....utterlyutterly throws me. Maybe I'm just tired. Exhausted of the new, of the change. Everything's the same regardless, so why I must remain in the hunt is beyond me. My inquisitive nature? So curious.
I sound like such a prat.
I want to be distracted. YET! All of this shit that distracts only detracts from this so called existence I've birthed and given up on. Whoa. Am i so bored of effort? How awful. Truly fucking awful. I should be doing more with my time mayhaps? We all gotta keep warm. I should be facilitating something to that effect. Clean drinking water and all those integral bits we take for granted. Am I so ungrateful? Jesus. It seems it. I can afford not to work for a bit. I have a roof and all the accoutrement that any sentient being could ever want. Love and junk. Health for me and those I name dearest. Am i so inundated by 'shoulds' that my wants become a distant whisper? I want to remember the language of my heart and have the courage to follow it. Does being female prohibit me from making a decision? I use to make decisions all willy-nilly and some pretty wicked things happened....glorious and opposedly, not so. Getting there is taxing and taking too long, and I don't know where 'there' is. Death, i imagine. Well I'm not remotely there so what's next? Why must I have constant stimulation? Is that generational, or human? Do I expect too little of myself? Is that where others get it from.....me? Gross.
How do i get what I want if I don't know what it is? I want too much. Stretched too thin. So thin.
Caribou Beer and Arcade fire suit me just fine....'gets me every time.' If it isn't one thing it's another. It never ends. I'm gonna learn some things tomorrow. Gonna feign interest in a conversation I should be interested in...like my life.
Dear Life,
I am not so interested in you right now.
P.S You can do better.
R
Is that all ego? To think better of yourself for certain things and not of in others? Money is money is MONey... is death. The pursuit of such nonsense beguiles me. Who am I competing with? Myself.....mostly. I've been sad lately. How much of feeling something is completely self induced? I don't feel at ease here...yet? It's like anywhere else, so why does it feel so foreign? I may be racist.
My skin itches for something. Always more. If there's no growth there's no money! If you don't eat yer meat.....! I quit a job after participating for eight hours. My participation consisted of annoyance, irritation, bemused aggravation. A sickness set into me during those allotted eight. I was at lost in a sea of ignorance and sloth. Gossip and solitude. Why would anyone do that to themselves? Make an environment so intolerable that nothing could survive? I had to get the fuck out of there. I need no drama. I create plenty enough without aid.
I've complicated things somehow. I wanted the time to blend a life I've led for the previous year to something new and exciting. Now I sleep all night and the live long day. My desires to pursue desires is all so undesirable. My taste for things is so fleeting. Perhaps I've led such a charmed life that when things don't go as planned, my interest wanes. Or I'm such a control freak that any step away from the previously ordained(by me) throws me....utterlyutterly throws me. Maybe I'm just tired. Exhausted of the new, of the change. Everything's the same regardless, so why I must remain in the hunt is beyond me. My inquisitive nature? So curious.
I sound like such a prat.
I want to be distracted. YET! All of this shit that distracts only detracts from this so called existence I've birthed and given up on. Whoa. Am i so bored of effort? How awful. Truly fucking awful. I should be doing more with my time mayhaps? We all gotta keep warm. I should be facilitating something to that effect. Clean drinking water and all those integral bits we take for granted. Am I so ungrateful? Jesus. It seems it. I can afford not to work for a bit. I have a roof and all the accoutrement that any sentient being could ever want. Love and junk. Health for me and those I name dearest. Am i so inundated by 'shoulds' that my wants become a distant whisper? I want to remember the language of my heart and have the courage to follow it. Does being female prohibit me from making a decision? I use to make decisions all willy-nilly and some pretty wicked things happened....glorious and opposedly, not so. Getting there is taxing and taking too long, and I don't know where 'there' is. Death, i imagine. Well I'm not remotely there so what's next? Why must I have constant stimulation? Is that generational, or human? Do I expect too little of myself? Is that where others get it from.....me? Gross.
How do i get what I want if I don't know what it is? I want too much. Stretched too thin. So thin.
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