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!
Sunday, June 30, 2013
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....
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