Last night was my first night outside the catacombs of solitude. I've been feeling the need to start practicing hanging out with my friends sober, because that's when your will power truly gets tested. I've also finally began to start feeling okay with myself physically again; I've decided to make a goal of working out everyday and I'm getting my situation back. Makes me feel a tiny bit more confident. Not that I'm going to pull chicks by lifting up my shirt or fist pumping or anything, but you know that feelings of 'alright, I know this looks good and I worked hard for it so I'm going to feel good' right?
Anyway, put my swag together and headed out for the night. It seemed to be turning into one of those 'thought we were going to do something but ended up doing nothing' nights, but around 11, Kitty and I decided to go pregame before a night of good old bars. Drinking isn't on my addiction list, and I deserved a night of rewarding. So jello shots and multitudes of random potent girly drinks were ingested. The only problem with the bottle is how much more receptive you become to peer pressure and 'joining the party'. When the bowl got passed to me, still lit from the last smoker... and I'm drunk... and looking at the pipe like its an old prostitute I miss having sex with... for me to actually pass it on and not hit it made me proud of myself. I'll pat myself on the back for that one.
The night went on, with pictures and putting drinks on my husband Mike Millers tab and watching friends ride mechanical bulls. It was a good time; felt good to be smiling and dancing again. But after the bars close is when filth comes out and let me tell you... last night ended up really dirty.
Cops always show up to bars at last call to make sure people leave. But when your with a group of drunk heathens, some with 700 pound 8 foot framed bodies and jealousy issues, well... thats when the cops become a hornets nest. And you dont play with hornets- I've learned that.
To save a long story from being even longer, 4 out of the 7 people I went with got arrested. One got tazed. The owner of my ride home got arrested along with his friend. And to top it off, the driver who was trusted with the ride home... gets arrested. It was a fucking circus. And I'm going to pat myself on the back again because in all honesty, I could have been swept up into all that chaos had I not known that hornets dont play nice. They dont care if you just want to find out whats going on with your friends; they will just sting you for being a drunken mess and talking to them.
I grabbed my fight or flight lasso and gathered the remaining scraps of my crew to the car. I was in no condition to be driving that vehicle but at this point, I was the only one acting like I knew what was going on. The two girls get in the car, I pull into a parking lot and wait for the wasps and rioting to leave my driving path. The girls I gathered were fucking sexy, I'm not gonna lie. The type of girls who attract flocks of drunk ass hats to the car to 'make sure they're getting home okay'. As I'm sitting in the drivers seat, I'm just waiting for these bastards to turn off their autopilot cock babbling and stop trying to fuck these girls through the windows. I leaned over after listening to an excessive amount of bad pick up lines and introduced myself to the group.
"Hey whats your name buddy?", reaching my hand towards the window.
"Mike man, you sure your good to drive man? I dont want these girls, you know, getting into more stuff, you know like..." He probably went on for a while but I stopped listening.
"Yeah, no I feel you. I'm an Army general and I have my credentials to drive them where they need to be partner." I gave him the good head nod brush off, took a deep breath to stop myself from laughing at what I just said, and rolled up the windows.
We got back to these girls place in one piece. They proceeded to take the majority of their clothes off and begin flipping out about whats going to happen to our friends. This went on for about two hours. One chick was calling anyone and everyone; lawyers, parents, old roommates from summer camp. It was ridiculous. And I kept telling her " There's nothing we can do. Trust me. They'll be let out once their sober on a C.O bond and thats that." But no, she still wanted to figure out 'what was going on'.
"Like, what am I supposed to do? I mean, I got money and I can go get them out its just like, I feel so bad because this is all my fault you know? I dont know what to do"
I listened to this respectfully. After all, I still hadn't figured out if I was going to try to fuck her or not. But after those two hours of nonsensical childishness, I made my decision and left that shit storm. Another pat on the back for that one.
A few hours ago, I dragged a moral out of this. Partially about this situation and partially about my emotional state. So I'll state it.
1.) I am a good guy. I could have easily witted my way into some retarded sloppy drunk vagina last night and all I did was drive them home and leave.
2.) I can pass on grass. YAY!
3.) DONT PLAY WITH HORNETS DAMNIT
4.) This is the one thats not going to make much sense, but its where I'm at right now... - I come to this blank canvas everyday to spill my insides. Including right now. Is it a healthy outlet for me? Yes. But I'm taking a break from you. Just a little one.
I'm starting to realize my feelings are still jailed in a fantasy. I can't do anything about it. I've tried telling myself I'm over it, tried looking into other females and options, tried venting to this page. All of this in attempts to stitch up that wound. But its not working. And I'm not sure if any of that will ever work. And everyday it seems a little heavier. I feel like I've gained 200 pounds of stupidity and lost time.
Songs will still make me cry that shouldn't. Memories exist in me that shouldn't and never should have been there. And this attachment... this thread of whatever it is... is a one sided, one way collision course with suicide if I dont shut the fuck up and do something different.
I gotta let go. This is my attempt.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Abuser Turned Rescuer: The Story of Second Chances
How many of you have to change the channel when the Sarah Mclachlan commercial for the SPCA comes on?
I do. And if I can't reach my remote for some lazy reason, I just reach for my dog. She's always right by my side; whining in little cute intervals if she isn't within petting distance. That commercial invokes so many emotions at once that my heart implodes after the third or fourth image of shaking, lonely animals. My tear ducts can't stand it.
The story I'm about to share doesn't make me proud until the end. In fact, this story is the reason I feel guilty and worthless mostly during those commercials.
When I was a teen, I was heavily into every high you could imagine ( I'm starting to realize every story that I have involves drugs and things of that nature; kinda sad). At one point, I had a dealer who was very clingy. My buddy had just moved into the spare bedroom across the hall after a series of home issues and he basically took over the role of my big brother. And also inherited the role of my drug partner. He was what I like to call an 'active enabler'; there were countless summer days we'd spend inventing crazy basketball jukes on the court in my dad's driveway, and in between points, instead of a water break, we'd pass a blunt. Great guy. Love him to death. But I digress... during high school, my dads place had an open door policy. You could just pop up and come in without knocking, which I was fine with. But my dealer took advantage of that welcome mat, along with my kindness. She would show up at any time of the day and, as long as she brought some coke or a blunt, I was able to put up with her. There was one day specifically I remember waking up to the sound of grinding on my dressers. I rolled over, and there was Lucifer and her cocaine. She brought a plate up to my face and said , "Morning (insert childish version of my birth name)! Here you go, these two are for you."- and in my best interest, I leaned up and took my rations. Talk about a good morning. No need for coffee or a shower; we went right across the hall to my buddies room and gave him the same offer. He wiped his eyes, looked at us with a smile and joined the party.
This was actually more normal than I'd like to admit. And Lucifer was a cunning little snake. She knew how to manipulate me with her dope and her begging.
Finally the day came where she asked me for a favor. After all the 'favors' she had done for me, it'd only be right for me to reciprocate. She told me her dog needed a place to stay for a few weeks and asked if I could take her, and me- being a dog lover- embraced the opportunity. Now, Maggie was a Pit Bull. Short, stocky, 40 pound fawn animal. Peppy little bitch. So I took her in but not to my surprise, weeks turned into months. Questions about her stay turned into answers with drugs. It didn't end. Until one day, Maggie decided to not get along with one of my dads dogs. She latched onto her ear and ripped it half way through. As the dog whimpered and shook her head in pain, my dad looked at me and said, 'This dog has to go.'
I left Maggie outside for the night. She dug a hole underneath the fence door and that was the last I saw of her. I felt bad. I felt like I not only let down the animal, but Lucifer and all of her generosity.
A few weeks passed and Lucifer came to me with another proposal. This time, it was for one of her friends dogs. Beautiful animal. Great Dane/Pit Bull mix, albino with baby blue eyes and a pink nose. She asked if I could take Mercedes for a while until her worthless friend could find a home for herself and the dog. Of course, days turned into weeks and so on. But this dog was different; all she did was lay in my bed and give me kisses and had the temperament of a beanie baby.
I had rage issues for most of my life derived from unresolved issues revolving around the loss of my mother. I would break entire walls down in my house, shatter pictures and doors to cabinets. I was destructive. I also didn't understand how to properly discipline dogs. It almost became a game for my friends and I; if we came home to the garbage on the floor or the fridge ransacked, we would laugh and kick the dogs and beat them with whatever we could. Horrifying to think back and admit those things openly....
Anyway, one day we came home and my buddy walked through the door and right into a pill of dog shit. His next step was into a puddle of piss. We looked at each other and said, "Oh, fuck that". Ran up stairs and Mercedes was hiding, which wasn't usual. It also wasn't usual for the other dogs to make this sort of mess. So we placed the blame on the new dog, picked her up from her spot, threw her down the stairs, choked her all the way to the door and threw her out of the screen door. The last sight I had of her was her trying to regain her footing as she landed on the hard cement and taking off into the street.
Telling my dealer twice that I couldn't manage the animals wasn't as hard as the menacing memories of what I had done to the dogs in the aftermath. It took me a few years to even acknowledge my wrong doings.
Maggie got picked up by animal control a few blocks away and after being rehabilitated from her vicious ways, got adopted by a good family.
Mercedes didn't. She was put down. She was only a year and a half years old.
Years passed. I was now in a steady relationship with Whore #2. One day, we got a call from someone telling us that they had picked up a pit down on the northside just walking around unattended to. But because they didn't have the ability to take care of the dog for more than the few days they already had, the dog needed a home or it was going to the shelter.
She was a fighting dog. Her ears told her story. Short, emaciated, unique brindle and feisty. Whore #2 asked me if we could take her and without thought, I immediately said yes. After all the previous failures with pits, I had to convince myself A.) That I could rehabilitate this animal, and B.) That I wouldn't give up on her.
We met the rescuer at a gas station about 15 miles away where he gave us the briefing on the dog. Told us she has papers, but she's stolen so we wont be able to access them. She's a good dog, though she has a curious side and might get into some food left out. And then the dog jumped into the car, skittish and uneasy. Her name was Roxy and I automatically hated the name. Not only did it just suck as a name, but it symbolized her past; it represented her being chained to walls and being forced into fights. As I looked at this animal for the first time, I looked over at Whore #2 and said "Were changing her name to Mercedes."
This was my homage to the beautiful animal I indirectly killed. This name was giving Mercedes a second chance, giving Roxy a second chance and also, giving myself the chance to prove I'm not a horrible person. Not to anyone else but myself.
Mercedes is now going on 6 years old. She is the most adorable monster on the planet. Rambunctious and energy sensitive; she embodies a good sum of my own traits. She was given up on by people who should have loved her, left her to fend for her self, neglected, forced to do things she wouldn't have with the right guidance, and needs lots and lots of affection :)
If I do have a heart that still works, she owns it. And every time I see those commercials, I try to forgive myself for the past and embrace the love and energy I've put into keeping this dog with me at all costs. She has her flaws, but so do I. I'm not going to judge her or beat her like I would have 10 years ago. I'm not going to do anything but love this animal the way she deserved to be loved from day one. She's been there for me when I need her too; during the break up with Whore #2, she was there to cuddle my 3 year loss away. During Christmas's, she was there to help me open my presents and eat the wrapping paper. When I left on an aimless excursion to Colorado, she became my protection in the wild and my companion on the hikes. And over the past 8 months, she's moved 3 different places with me... keeping me grounded and giving me company. She hasn't given up on me... and I will never, EVER give up on her :)
I do. And if I can't reach my remote for some lazy reason, I just reach for my dog. She's always right by my side; whining in little cute intervals if she isn't within petting distance. That commercial invokes so many emotions at once that my heart implodes after the third or fourth image of shaking, lonely animals. My tear ducts can't stand it.
The story I'm about to share doesn't make me proud until the end. In fact, this story is the reason I feel guilty and worthless mostly during those commercials.
When I was a teen, I was heavily into every high you could imagine ( I'm starting to realize every story that I have involves drugs and things of that nature; kinda sad). At one point, I had a dealer who was very clingy. My buddy had just moved into the spare bedroom across the hall after a series of home issues and he basically took over the role of my big brother. And also inherited the role of my drug partner. He was what I like to call an 'active enabler'; there were countless summer days we'd spend inventing crazy basketball jukes on the court in my dad's driveway, and in between points, instead of a water break, we'd pass a blunt. Great guy. Love him to death. But I digress... during high school, my dads place had an open door policy. You could just pop up and come in without knocking, which I was fine with. But my dealer took advantage of that welcome mat, along with my kindness. She would show up at any time of the day and, as long as she brought some coke or a blunt, I was able to put up with her. There was one day specifically I remember waking up to the sound of grinding on my dressers. I rolled over, and there was Lucifer and her cocaine. She brought a plate up to my face and said , "Morning (insert childish version of my birth name)! Here you go, these two are for you."- and in my best interest, I leaned up and took my rations. Talk about a good morning. No need for coffee or a shower; we went right across the hall to my buddies room and gave him the same offer. He wiped his eyes, looked at us with a smile and joined the party.
This was actually more normal than I'd like to admit. And Lucifer was a cunning little snake. She knew how to manipulate me with her dope and her begging.
Finally the day came where she asked me for a favor. After all the 'favors' she had done for me, it'd only be right for me to reciprocate. She told me her dog needed a place to stay for a few weeks and asked if I could take her, and me- being a dog lover- embraced the opportunity. Now, Maggie was a Pit Bull. Short, stocky, 40 pound fawn animal. Peppy little bitch. So I took her in but not to my surprise, weeks turned into months. Questions about her stay turned into answers with drugs. It didn't end. Until one day, Maggie decided to not get along with one of my dads dogs. She latched onto her ear and ripped it half way through. As the dog whimpered and shook her head in pain, my dad looked at me and said, 'This dog has to go.'
I left Maggie outside for the night. She dug a hole underneath the fence door and that was the last I saw of her. I felt bad. I felt like I not only let down the animal, but Lucifer and all of her generosity.
A few weeks passed and Lucifer came to me with another proposal. This time, it was for one of her friends dogs. Beautiful animal. Great Dane/Pit Bull mix, albino with baby blue eyes and a pink nose. She asked if I could take Mercedes for a while until her worthless friend could find a home for herself and the dog. Of course, days turned into weeks and so on. But this dog was different; all she did was lay in my bed and give me kisses and had the temperament of a beanie baby.
I had rage issues for most of my life derived from unresolved issues revolving around the loss of my mother. I would break entire walls down in my house, shatter pictures and doors to cabinets. I was destructive. I also didn't understand how to properly discipline dogs. It almost became a game for my friends and I; if we came home to the garbage on the floor or the fridge ransacked, we would laugh and kick the dogs and beat them with whatever we could. Horrifying to think back and admit those things openly....
Anyway, one day we came home and my buddy walked through the door and right into a pill of dog shit. His next step was into a puddle of piss. We looked at each other and said, "Oh, fuck that". Ran up stairs and Mercedes was hiding, which wasn't usual. It also wasn't usual for the other dogs to make this sort of mess. So we placed the blame on the new dog, picked her up from her spot, threw her down the stairs, choked her all the way to the door and threw her out of the screen door. The last sight I had of her was her trying to regain her footing as she landed on the hard cement and taking off into the street.
Telling my dealer twice that I couldn't manage the animals wasn't as hard as the menacing memories of what I had done to the dogs in the aftermath. It took me a few years to even acknowledge my wrong doings.
Maggie got picked up by animal control a few blocks away and after being rehabilitated from her vicious ways, got adopted by a good family.
Mercedes didn't. She was put down. She was only a year and a half years old.
Years passed. I was now in a steady relationship with Whore #2. One day, we got a call from someone telling us that they had picked up a pit down on the northside just walking around unattended to. But because they didn't have the ability to take care of the dog for more than the few days they already had, the dog needed a home or it was going to the shelter.
She was a fighting dog. Her ears told her story. Short, emaciated, unique brindle and feisty. Whore #2 asked me if we could take her and without thought, I immediately said yes. After all the previous failures with pits, I had to convince myself A.) That I could rehabilitate this animal, and B.) That I wouldn't give up on her.
We met the rescuer at a gas station about 15 miles away where he gave us the briefing on the dog. Told us she has papers, but she's stolen so we wont be able to access them. She's a good dog, though she has a curious side and might get into some food left out. And then the dog jumped into the car, skittish and uneasy. Her name was Roxy and I automatically hated the name. Not only did it just suck as a name, but it symbolized her past; it represented her being chained to walls and being forced into fights. As I looked at this animal for the first time, I looked over at Whore #2 and said "Were changing her name to Mercedes."
This was my homage to the beautiful animal I indirectly killed. This name was giving Mercedes a second chance, giving Roxy a second chance and also, giving myself the chance to prove I'm not a horrible person. Not to anyone else but myself.
Mercedes is now going on 6 years old. She is the most adorable monster on the planet. Rambunctious and energy sensitive; she embodies a good sum of my own traits. She was given up on by people who should have loved her, left her to fend for her self, neglected, forced to do things she wouldn't have with the right guidance, and needs lots and lots of affection :)
If I do have a heart that still works, she owns it. And every time I see those commercials, I try to forgive myself for the past and embrace the love and energy I've put into keeping this dog with me at all costs. She has her flaws, but so do I. I'm not going to judge her or beat her like I would have 10 years ago. I'm not going to do anything but love this animal the way she deserved to be loved from day one. She's been there for me when I need her too; during the break up with Whore #2, she was there to cuddle my 3 year loss away. During Christmas's, she was there to help me open my presents and eat the wrapping paper. When I left on an aimless excursion to Colorado, she became my protection in the wild and my companion on the hikes. And over the past 8 months, she's moved 3 different places with me... keeping me grounded and giving me company. She hasn't given up on me... and I will never, EVER give up on her :)
Friday, February 25, 2011
We all have shells. Comfort zones. Places we go back to when we need to rest our head or take a breath. I understand this 'blanket' concept just as well as the next typically normal individual. Some take it to extremes; still sucking their thumbs, sleeping with childhood teddy bears, calling their parents when life gets unfair. I'll admit, I'm not innocent when it comes to that topic. I sat in a comfort zone made out of chemicals and not doing shit with myself or my life for a good while there. The difference between now and then is that I've began to realize what that comfort zone was doing to my days. It was turning them into a television marathon of yesterday. And yesterday. And 5 years ago.
I'm not going to sit behind this screen and act like I'm a completely new person. I still have many, many, MANY flaws and slip ups. I still carry alot of my old mistakes and feelings in my hands, ready to drop them on peoples plates if I let myself. I haven't figured out a way to shape shift yet (unfortunately) or fast forward 3 years or do back flip 180's and land safely going the opposite way without bringing some sort of old habit with me. Whether its biting your nails, or being a social butterfly, or loving on your dog every morning when you wake up- theres some habit that follows you. What I'm frustrated with is the difficulty people have deciphering the difference between a bad habit or pattern and a personal trait.
This page is my comfort zone. It has become a limb. A new set of vocal cords. I would also attribute this as one of my 'personal traits'.
My heart is severely retarded. It has no common sense and has had zero attention or positivity. Therefore, it makes me do stupid shit like whine and bitch passively through these lines, or go back to people from my past who I know are sucky people. This is one of my 'bad habits or patterns'.
See what I did there? I fucking labeled, embarrassing as it is, a bad pattern of my own and also a personal trait. They both have commonalities, yes. Did I confuse them? I dont think so. I clearly stated A.) That my writing is where I feel safest at and B.) That my heart is a moron.
I dont keep many people in my immediate social circle any more for this reason and this reason only. I used to love attention; always having groups of friends over after school, or leaving class to go discing with folks or go to parties and get plastered with whoever for whatever reason. I used to enjoy that. But in the space I'm in now, and have been for a while, I don't just throw the word 'friendship' around anymore. It's something I invest in. If you are considered my close friend, I know you. I know your patterns. I know your tendencies. I know your past and how it effects you today. And thats why my arsenal of 'close friends' consists of maybe 2 people.
If I invest in you, and I give you my energy and my advice and my time and you put on this mask to impress me or appease my questions, you can fuck off. Seriously. I'm not your dad. I'm not your teacher or your principal or a cop. I'm a friend who just wants to offer any bit of help I can. And if you're going to have a conversation with me about what you're doing with your life and what you wish you were doing with your life, and it becomes a conversation we ALWAYS have and it NEVER accomplishes anything... then what the fuck are you doing?! We can sit there and articulate your patterns and your bad habits till the cows come home but until you fucking step up and do something to obscure that path you've laid down for yourself... were going to find ourselves in this same spot, with these same words, and you... with your same damn problems.
Dont bullshit me. If you dont want to change, you're actions are going to be megaphones compared to your voice. The oration and performance of words is an art, trust me, I've practiced alot. I've worked on inflection and tone and pacing and rhythm. But I don't think I've ever added impulsive lying to that list. I've lied, ya. To myself, ya. But if I want to do work IN HERE... fuck talking, I'm going to do it and you can tell ME what you see.
I'm not going to sit behind this screen and act like I'm a completely new person. I still have many, many, MANY flaws and slip ups. I still carry alot of my old mistakes and feelings in my hands, ready to drop them on peoples plates if I let myself. I haven't figured out a way to shape shift yet (unfortunately) or fast forward 3 years or do back flip 180's and land safely going the opposite way without bringing some sort of old habit with me. Whether its biting your nails, or being a social butterfly, or loving on your dog every morning when you wake up- theres some habit that follows you. What I'm frustrated with is the difficulty people have deciphering the difference between a bad habit or pattern and a personal trait.
This page is my comfort zone. It has become a limb. A new set of vocal cords. I would also attribute this as one of my 'personal traits'.
My heart is severely retarded. It has no common sense and has had zero attention or positivity. Therefore, it makes me do stupid shit like whine and bitch passively through these lines, or go back to people from my past who I know are sucky people. This is one of my 'bad habits or patterns'.
See what I did there? I fucking labeled, embarrassing as it is, a bad pattern of my own and also a personal trait. They both have commonalities, yes. Did I confuse them? I dont think so. I clearly stated A.) That my writing is where I feel safest at and B.) That my heart is a moron.
I dont keep many people in my immediate social circle any more for this reason and this reason only. I used to love attention; always having groups of friends over after school, or leaving class to go discing with folks or go to parties and get plastered with whoever for whatever reason. I used to enjoy that. But in the space I'm in now, and have been for a while, I don't just throw the word 'friendship' around anymore. It's something I invest in. If you are considered my close friend, I know you. I know your patterns. I know your tendencies. I know your past and how it effects you today. And thats why my arsenal of 'close friends' consists of maybe 2 people.
If I invest in you, and I give you my energy and my advice and my time and you put on this mask to impress me or appease my questions, you can fuck off. Seriously. I'm not your dad. I'm not your teacher or your principal or a cop. I'm a friend who just wants to offer any bit of help I can. And if you're going to have a conversation with me about what you're doing with your life and what you wish you were doing with your life, and it becomes a conversation we ALWAYS have and it NEVER accomplishes anything... then what the fuck are you doing?! We can sit there and articulate your patterns and your bad habits till the cows come home but until you fucking step up and do something to obscure that path you've laid down for yourself... were going to find ourselves in this same spot, with these same words, and you... with your same damn problems.
Dont bullshit me. If you dont want to change, you're actions are going to be megaphones compared to your voice. The oration and performance of words is an art, trust me, I've practiced alot. I've worked on inflection and tone and pacing and rhythm. But I don't think I've ever added impulsive lying to that list. I've lied, ya. To myself, ya. But if I want to do work IN HERE... fuck talking, I'm going to do it and you can tell ME what you see.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Better than I can say it
This is my bit of thought for the day. If you haven't seen this movie, and have some brain fuel, I highly recommend trying to digest this one. "Waking Life". Step yo game up and think.
I am currently in the process of getting my Jesus abs back, so today is a bed day. Also, not a writing day. These days were meant for food and baths and wishing you could stand up with out cringing. Ugh...
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
A party only I'm invited to
I had never done this before. Well, I had- just not on my own with no partner in crime to back me up. I left the steering wheel and the hand break along with all the aids from others in my backpack as I lifted myself into the tree. I reached a branch that seemed good to settle into. Enough space from the ground and I, from the living and dead. I rested my back on a sturdy but seemingly useless part, feeling my feet smear into the bark like I was a breathing extension with facial hair. I could smell the wind. It smelt of memories and running dogs and a long night. The sun was peaking at me over the horizon of tree tops and whispered clouds. Sunset already. Apparently this horrifying drug had already had me in its grips for a while. But I was safe. Safe as any man in a 40 foot tree on acid could be. I took a cigarette out of my pocket and lit it, scowling at the fire and the smell. Don't ruin the air, I thought. It's perfect right now. The solace of natures breath. You bastard addict, selfish and needy and bitchy.
Below me, I could see a familiar face holding the sun in spot for us. Our minds must be powerful, I thought. Our space was different, collision in the making possibly. Would he tolerate the garbled murmuring of this drug? Would I understand his pain and dismemberment and missing heart in his low, mediocre wave of opiates? Could he hear me up here? Am I up here?
The clouds began to wash away from the egg. Sunny side up in ocean pan made of bristles and dusk. Dont leave yet. Stay for a little longer. There's a party I heard only you and I were invited to and we can get naked and share stories of where we've been and what we've seen and all the times I've woke up to you and how you didn't get off my back some days and all I want to do is hang out with you. Just you. Just for the moment.
But moments pass like whispered memories and dogs running. That familiar ant below looked up, squinting through his monocle and said
'Think we should start heading back soon?'
I suppose he was right. No use getting lost amongst the animals and darkness. Dangerous things can happen, I thought. Who knows what the natives have hidden back here for times like this. The neighboring boy scouts could be armed and ready to attack at any moment. They're trained for such measures and have uniforms. My feet began to hurry through patches of sand and broken branches, twisting our path in the right direction. There in the open crater laid a friendly monster. It was sleeping but I knew what it needed. Just a good pep talk and a pat and off we went. Alright buddy, lets get us where were going, I said. The music smelt of trees and ants. It made me giggle, smirking with my eyes in my ears.
'You sure you're good to drive man?'
Of course I'm confident with beasts of this nature. I speak their language. They go and stop. They play tunes with dirty feet and gentle meanings. They separate the living from the dead. They keep wonderful sights in front of me, lighting symbols, lines that border my side from theirs. This is my side. Keep out of my god damn area. This is safe over here. Safe as any man on this drug. Trust me with your life. I know what I'm doing.
Below me, I could see a familiar face holding the sun in spot for us. Our minds must be powerful, I thought. Our space was different, collision in the making possibly. Would he tolerate the garbled murmuring of this drug? Would I understand his pain and dismemberment and missing heart in his low, mediocre wave of opiates? Could he hear me up here? Am I up here?
The clouds began to wash away from the egg. Sunny side up in ocean pan made of bristles and dusk. Dont leave yet. Stay for a little longer. There's a party I heard only you and I were invited to and we can get naked and share stories of where we've been and what we've seen and all the times I've woke up to you and how you didn't get off my back some days and all I want to do is hang out with you. Just you. Just for the moment.
But moments pass like whispered memories and dogs running. That familiar ant below looked up, squinting through his monocle and said
'Think we should start heading back soon?'
I suppose he was right. No use getting lost amongst the animals and darkness. Dangerous things can happen, I thought. Who knows what the natives have hidden back here for times like this. The neighboring boy scouts could be armed and ready to attack at any moment. They're trained for such measures and have uniforms. My feet began to hurry through patches of sand and broken branches, twisting our path in the right direction. There in the open crater laid a friendly monster. It was sleeping but I knew what it needed. Just a good pep talk and a pat and off we went. Alright buddy, lets get us where were going, I said. The music smelt of trees and ants. It made me giggle, smirking with my eyes in my ears.
'You sure you're good to drive man?'
Of course I'm confident with beasts of this nature. I speak their language. They go and stop. They play tunes with dirty feet and gentle meanings. They separate the living from the dead. They keep wonderful sights in front of me, lighting symbols, lines that border my side from theirs. This is my side. Keep out of my god damn area. This is safe over here. Safe as any man on this drug. Trust me with your life. I know what I'm doing.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Transforming. No Megan Fox.
We all have our days. Dark, soiled and mangled days. Weeks even. But that fire that inspires breath never goes out. All it needs is some air, some kind kindle to spread like oceans. And it will. Just wait. Time, brutish as it may be, ticking without clocks, brings comfort. Warmth and food.
Here it comes. Its going to be my favorite song. My favorite beat. You feel it? Its in your chest. Its in your eyes when you can't even see it. But I can, and without time, you will too. Forget time, just for a second. Let it be. Forget the past. It's back there for a reason. Forget that wire holding you back from tomorrow. Cut it. We don't need any more weight.
I was having a conversation with a dog the other day. His jowl leaking saline and tissue paper, pupils corroded from accidental feasts of LSA and psilocybin, brain over the edge. He sat whining about some disturbed abstract and I couldn't argue with the beast. After all, he's 96 with hips that shake and gaps for teeth, smelling like molding towels and ravioli. I told him to back off. I wasn't in the mood for sympathy or for the revolting toxicity of his coat. He said Dont you remember me? I've just been sitting around these parts waiting for the doors to be left open or the gate ajar. Remember? My names Beau but my friends call me Queerbait. Remember?
I rolled down my sleeve, covered my hand and decided to pet him like an animal should be. I understood his angst and his need to ravage outside of his confines. I feel that feeling. The one that needs to get out like sweat. Excrement of winter. Bars. Chains. Leashes and collars. We all have them. We just need a good work out. A good run around the neighborhood pulling trash bins on top of Lexus' and terrorizing little children.
Watch yourself transform from the inside. Later it will shift. Like seasons. Like style. Like the pictures you post on your profile. Buy something to symbolize your change. For me, I bought a mantra. I've never had one that's positive or tasteful. I've never recited internal messages that perspired anything but dirt and self destruction.
From the inside out. Inside out. I watch veins turn muscles into what I forgot they looked like. With these words wrapped around my wrist, the sight of dumbbells above me no longer tempts me to put them down but instead... count off 5 more reps and add another set. Inside out baby. Terrorize children. Run like there is absolutely
no
reason at all.
Here it comes. Its going to be my favorite song. My favorite beat. You feel it? Its in your chest. Its in your eyes when you can't even see it. But I can, and without time, you will too. Forget time, just for a second. Let it be. Forget the past. It's back there for a reason. Forget that wire holding you back from tomorrow. Cut it. We don't need any more weight.
I was having a conversation with a dog the other day. His jowl leaking saline and tissue paper, pupils corroded from accidental feasts of LSA and psilocybin, brain over the edge. He sat whining about some disturbed abstract and I couldn't argue with the beast. After all, he's 96 with hips that shake and gaps for teeth, smelling like molding towels and ravioli. I told him to back off. I wasn't in the mood for sympathy or for the revolting toxicity of his coat. He said Dont you remember me? I've just been sitting around these parts waiting for the doors to be left open or the gate ajar. Remember? My names Beau but my friends call me Queerbait. Remember?
I rolled down my sleeve, covered my hand and decided to pet him like an animal should be. I understood his angst and his need to ravage outside of his confines. I feel that feeling. The one that needs to get out like sweat. Excrement of winter. Bars. Chains. Leashes and collars. We all have them. We just need a good work out. A good run around the neighborhood pulling trash bins on top of Lexus' and terrorizing little children.
Watch yourself transform from the inside. Later it will shift. Like seasons. Like style. Like the pictures you post on your profile. Buy something to symbolize your change. For me, I bought a mantra. I've never had one that's positive or tasteful. I've never recited internal messages that perspired anything but dirt and self destruction.
From the inside out. Inside out. I watch veins turn muscles into what I forgot they looked like. With these words wrapped around my wrist, the sight of dumbbells above me no longer tempts me to put them down but instead... count off 5 more reps and add another set. Inside out baby. Terrorize children. Run like there is absolutely
no
reason at all.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Meaning - the true meaning + the meaning I give it = sad
"Love isn't someone writing an epic sentence about loving you forever and hitting send."
I envy those who can speak about love like its familiar. Like its a dream they can interpret. Like its a race they've finished once or twice over the years
because I
can only talk about the starting line. I can only speak on the times I thought the starter gun would go off
but pointed down, without blanks and just lead. Purposely shooting me
right off my feet and hitting my chest instead. Slowly bleeding never helps your heart. Or
your understanding of the track its meant to take.
If I could invest in anything,
it'd be to research how to higher the I.Q of my feelings.
How I could get the application papers for
accelerated courses in love.
At times I wonder why I never got accepted,
why I didn't get the letter of admittance, jump up and down screaming
run to my parents holding the paper sent from the meaning
of security university.
And unlike MSU, it's not known for its medical program
though it does teach you how smile.
And its not accredited to the Big Ten
but it does make you
ten times more aware of what happiness might be.
Could be.
If only I had gotten that scholarship,
just maybe,
maybe I wouldn't be so stupid.
I've read all the poetry, listened to all the songs,
tried therapy, nights alone,anything
to attempt to make right of my hearts wrongs but
I never got that letter
and I never got the knowledge.
Instead my heart got into
some no named, low grade community college where
all it did was skip class,
smoke weed and drink.
I pretty sure it even got used to peeing in the sink.
All its stories are of parties,
the empty beds and hollow sorry's,
and it never showed me once it learned anything but a
dangerous hobby.
If it even comprehended the frailty of the structure.
The intricacy of its timing and framework at all,
but unfortunately,
the only benefit from my investment
in trying to better my education
has been the childish skill of simply just fucking
pressing send.
I need to be held back.
I envy those who can speak about love like its familiar. Like its a dream they can interpret. Like its a race they've finished once or twice over the years
because I
can only talk about the starting line. I can only speak on the times I thought the starter gun would go off
but pointed down, without blanks and just lead. Purposely shooting me
right off my feet and hitting my chest instead. Slowly bleeding never helps your heart. Or
your understanding of the track its meant to take.
If I could invest in anything,
it'd be to research how to higher the I.Q of my feelings.
How I could get the application papers for
accelerated courses in love.
At times I wonder why I never got accepted,
why I didn't get the letter of admittance, jump up and down screaming
run to my parents holding the paper sent from the meaning
of security university.
And unlike MSU, it's not known for its medical program
though it does teach you how smile.
And its not accredited to the Big Ten
but it does make you
ten times more aware of what happiness might be.
Could be.
If only I had gotten that scholarship,
just maybe,
maybe I wouldn't be so stupid.
I've read all the poetry, listened to all the songs,
tried therapy, nights alone,anything
to attempt to make right of my hearts wrongs but
I never got that letter
and I never got the knowledge.
Instead my heart got into
some no named, low grade community college where
all it did was skip class,
smoke weed and drink.
I pretty sure it even got used to peeing in the sink.
All its stories are of parties,
the empty beds and hollow sorry's,
and it never showed me once it learned anything but a
dangerous hobby.
If it even comprehended the frailty of the structure.
The intricacy of its timing and framework at all,
but unfortunately,
the only benefit from my investment
in trying to better my education
has been the childish skill of simply just fucking
pressing send.
I need to be held back.
irony in really nude forms
This morning at 2 am, I decided I'd go for a walk. I wasn't tired. I wasn't in the mood to work out. I simply needed to be anywhere but in my room while I let out the most pathetic wail of a cry. This has unfortunately become a daily event of mine and sometimes, I can coach my thoughts. As I walked, I felt myself trying to hold it back. Like there was really someone watching a guy and his little pit bull walking at 2 in the fucking morning and was going to begin pointing and laughing at me for being such a wuss. Psh... out came the coach.
Its a mixture of my newly found internal monologue and past wisdom filled moments. As I turned a corner, I told myself 'dont hold it in, let it out.' So I did. In spurts, I wept. Occasionally, I would fall onto one knee (admittedly) before my dog would remind me we had to keep going. I interpreted the tugs as 'keep telling yourself positive things.' 'Its okay to feel this way.'- 'Its not your fault. Theres nothing you can do about it.'- 'Its not that your not good enough, it was a complete accident'- 'Be happy for her happiness until you can find your own', etc, etc. I walked for about an hour until my tracks led right back to where I'm staying, which made me cry even harder. Its gut wrenching for me to stay positive when I'm in an environment that makes me feel childish and leaching again. As I approached the garage, I completely broke away from my uplifting talk and just said ' I fucking hate this place, I fucking hate what I'm doing and not doing at this place, I fucking hate not feeling whole.'
I dont know what world my heart is in, but it needs to come back to this one. There is no reality in what it longs for. Its impossible for most to understand what exactly I'm talking about. Sometimes, I dont really know how it got there or more importantly, if I'll ever get it back. If its stuck there- if there's no amount of time it'll take to heal completely from this insanity- if in my 5 year plan, I still see meeting her and having her fall head over heals in love me instantly and wanting to give her every bit of my energy... if that is the actuality of this situation- I'm going to shoot myself. The grinding of my heart against walls of pure fantasy is becoming intolerable. Fuck the progress I've made in other venues, I NEED TO BE WHOLE AGAIN DAMNIT!!! I want to forget... I want to move on... I want to just be again...
I have a funeral to go to in a few hours so I gotta get my sleep. I just needed to exhaust for a second so I can close my eyes.
Its a mixture of my newly found internal monologue and past wisdom filled moments. As I turned a corner, I told myself 'dont hold it in, let it out.' So I did. In spurts, I wept. Occasionally, I would fall onto one knee (admittedly) before my dog would remind me we had to keep going. I interpreted the tugs as 'keep telling yourself positive things.' 'Its okay to feel this way.'- 'Its not your fault. Theres nothing you can do about it.'- 'Its not that your not good enough, it was a complete accident'- 'Be happy for her happiness until you can find your own', etc, etc. I walked for about an hour until my tracks led right back to where I'm staying, which made me cry even harder. Its gut wrenching for me to stay positive when I'm in an environment that makes me feel childish and leaching again. As I approached the garage, I completely broke away from my uplifting talk and just said ' I fucking hate this place, I fucking hate what I'm doing and not doing at this place, I fucking hate not feeling whole.'
I dont know what world my heart is in, but it needs to come back to this one. There is no reality in what it longs for. Its impossible for most to understand what exactly I'm talking about. Sometimes, I dont really know how it got there or more importantly, if I'll ever get it back. If its stuck there- if there's no amount of time it'll take to heal completely from this insanity- if in my 5 year plan, I still see meeting her and having her fall head over heals in love me instantly and wanting to give her every bit of my energy... if that is the actuality of this situation- I'm going to shoot myself. The grinding of my heart against walls of pure fantasy is becoming intolerable. Fuck the progress I've made in other venues, I NEED TO BE WHOLE AGAIN DAMNIT!!! I want to forget... I want to move on... I want to just be again...
I have a funeral to go to in a few hours so I gotta get my sleep. I just needed to exhaust for a second so I can close my eyes.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Recovery
I'm getting really good at letting go. It used to be such a difficult concept. I used to have such empathy and compassion for those who I'd see on T.V or in the streets or on the couch next to me talking about "Well, I want to eat better-" or " stop smoking-" or " cut back on my drinking. Its just hard. Like, do you know what its like to ...." bla bla bla. You know the rest of the chorus. Its called justifying your unhealthy habits. It's also called having zero will power. Or maybe its just placing all of your will power into refusing change. Either way, its all words and no action. Too much thought in the wrong place.
Trust me when I say it is an amazing feeling to know YOU are in control of YOU. And to not just say it to yourself in the mirror or as something you want to start embracing; actually TAKE CONTROL OF YOURSELF. Its the only thing we can control. And that first step of self awareness and capability is comparable to landing on the moon.
The majority of what I've wrote in the past month has been about breaking addictions. And I have. And yes, I've slipped a few times marching down that path but it didn't take much to reaffirm my commitment. First, I let go of the pain pills. For the past 3 years of my life, I've been heavily into opiates. They were my cushion after workouts, my center during 'difficult' times, my after party after the parties every day of every week. They were also my escape. When my reality crumbled back in September, I looked everywhere for comfort. There were some days I wanted to just jump out of my skin and run anywhere and everywhere. So first I turned to the bottle, which isn't usual for me. Drinking has rarely been my thing, but I needed something. Anything. I was buying pints, and drinking it to the dome in a half hour only to pass out crying in the fetal position next to a coffee table. Once I got sick of that sloppy blackout escape, I turned to Oxycontin. I dabbled in it occasionally in high school- some years more than others. But I found a guy down the street selling the good ones for cheap. I'd go buy 2 or 3 for 50 bucks, split em up and dose myself every morning to slide through the day. And by slide, I mean nod in and out of consciousness while playing video games or watching movies. Hardly living. I did this for a good month or two until my doses were starting to effect me less and I was having to take more. I was watching my money seeping out of my pockets faster than I had hoped. I needed something cheaper. Something more potent. Which guided me to a drug I never thought I would seek. I just needed that oasis high. That utopia where pain wasn't even possible.
Heroin was embarrassing, and disgusting internally. I was so ashamed of it, I didn't even tell my brother about it till about a week after I had started. I was beginning to get sick of running to empty rooms or bathrooms to break it up and snort my lines, so eventually I just said ' Man, I'm doing boy. And its not for long, I just need to get through this and ...' bla bla bla... you know the chorus. He was surprised I had progressed that far but continued to support me regardless. I remember one morning, we had got up around the same time and he had just got done making himself a nice breakfast. As he sat down to eat his eggs, sausage and toast- I sat down next to him with a picture frame and my breakfast of heroin. He laughed at the contrast on the table, but inside I knew he hated I had chose that dirty route. From that point, I just started doing everything at once. I was eating Oxys, smoking my usual green, cigarettes, bar hopping, pop some Percacets or Narcos or whatever else I could, and top it off with some blow. I had no limits at one point towards the end of the year. It was all or nothing and about a month ago, I decided that it's time to start doing something different. Not something more potent. Not something more dangerous. Something more... lively. And healthy.
One by one, I let go. First, I stopped the opiates. It was difficult; I think I was more addicted to the process of breaking the pill in half to offset the time release and swallowing it then I was the actual high. Head aches and weight loss were physically all I experienced. A little depression. But even after that was checked off the list, I was still sitting with a decade long use of marijuana, 4 years of cigarette smoking, and 4 years of taking xanax. And the one out of all of them that was going to be the hardest to kick was weed. That was like breathing. The comradery and communion of the process was beautiful. The light feeling and the giggling and the eating and the music and the taste... ugh, it was all so much a part of my 'happiness'. But once again, I told myself to keep going. My modo was ' if you're going to do the work, better do as much as possible', so I did. I cut that out and god damn, that was not fun. I felt like an alien to myself. I felt like I even looked different. Some days, I still don't know if I'm who I like being. But I checked that one off.
Now, I was just looking at the feeble last scraps of addiction I had left. Cigarettes I have proven to myself twice before that I can do without. There's no reason for them other than boredom and missing weed. All of this is just a test of my will power; yes, I do believe when I get the liberty to indulge occasionally again, I will. But I have to prove that I can do this shit without intervention and without justifying and without ANYONE else helping me. This IS ALL ME!
Today is my 3rd day into quitting cigarettes. And I've done this 3 times in the past month... just to prove that I really am in control. The xanax will come later; my anxiety is clinical. But everything else I've mentioned has been on MY terms! and I'll be damned if I'll buy any stupid excuse anyone throws my way about "Oh, I want to. Its just..." or " I can't right now, I'm just not strong enough to..." or " My parents didn't love me and I dont think I can just..".
Try putting all that energy into yourself STOPPING. Whatever it is. And see how good you feel. Take my word for it. It's a good feeling to do something for yourself, by yourself. Even if it is temporary; practicing self control is empowering and amazing.
Trust me when I say it is an amazing feeling to know YOU are in control of YOU. And to not just say it to yourself in the mirror or as something you want to start embracing; actually TAKE CONTROL OF YOURSELF. Its the only thing we can control. And that first step of self awareness and capability is comparable to landing on the moon.
The majority of what I've wrote in the past month has been about breaking addictions. And I have. And yes, I've slipped a few times marching down that path but it didn't take much to reaffirm my commitment. First, I let go of the pain pills. For the past 3 years of my life, I've been heavily into opiates. They were my cushion after workouts, my center during 'difficult' times, my after party after the parties every day of every week. They were also my escape. When my reality crumbled back in September, I looked everywhere for comfort. There were some days I wanted to just jump out of my skin and run anywhere and everywhere. So first I turned to the bottle, which isn't usual for me. Drinking has rarely been my thing, but I needed something. Anything. I was buying pints, and drinking it to the dome in a half hour only to pass out crying in the fetal position next to a coffee table. Once I got sick of that sloppy blackout escape, I turned to Oxycontin. I dabbled in it occasionally in high school- some years more than others. But I found a guy down the street selling the good ones for cheap. I'd go buy 2 or 3 for 50 bucks, split em up and dose myself every morning to slide through the day. And by slide, I mean nod in and out of consciousness while playing video games or watching movies. Hardly living. I did this for a good month or two until my doses were starting to effect me less and I was having to take more. I was watching my money seeping out of my pockets faster than I had hoped. I needed something cheaper. Something more potent. Which guided me to a drug I never thought I would seek. I just needed that oasis high. That utopia where pain wasn't even possible.
Heroin was embarrassing, and disgusting internally. I was so ashamed of it, I didn't even tell my brother about it till about a week after I had started. I was beginning to get sick of running to empty rooms or bathrooms to break it up and snort my lines, so eventually I just said ' Man, I'm doing boy. And its not for long, I just need to get through this and ...' bla bla bla... you know the chorus. He was surprised I had progressed that far but continued to support me regardless. I remember one morning, we had got up around the same time and he had just got done making himself a nice breakfast. As he sat down to eat his eggs, sausage and toast- I sat down next to him with a picture frame and my breakfast of heroin. He laughed at the contrast on the table, but inside I knew he hated I had chose that dirty route. From that point, I just started doing everything at once. I was eating Oxys, smoking my usual green, cigarettes, bar hopping, pop some Percacets or Narcos or whatever else I could, and top it off with some blow. I had no limits at one point towards the end of the year. It was all or nothing and about a month ago, I decided that it's time to start doing something different. Not something more potent. Not something more dangerous. Something more... lively. And healthy.
One by one, I let go. First, I stopped the opiates. It was difficult; I think I was more addicted to the process of breaking the pill in half to offset the time release and swallowing it then I was the actual high. Head aches and weight loss were physically all I experienced. A little depression. But even after that was checked off the list, I was still sitting with a decade long use of marijuana, 4 years of cigarette smoking, and 4 years of taking xanax. And the one out of all of them that was going to be the hardest to kick was weed. That was like breathing. The comradery and communion of the process was beautiful. The light feeling and the giggling and the eating and the music and the taste... ugh, it was all so much a part of my 'happiness'. But once again, I told myself to keep going. My modo was ' if you're going to do the work, better do as much as possible', so I did. I cut that out and god damn, that was not fun. I felt like an alien to myself. I felt like I even looked different. Some days, I still don't know if I'm who I like being. But I checked that one off.
Now, I was just looking at the feeble last scraps of addiction I had left. Cigarettes I have proven to myself twice before that I can do without. There's no reason for them other than boredom and missing weed. All of this is just a test of my will power; yes, I do believe when I get the liberty to indulge occasionally again, I will. But I have to prove that I can do this shit without intervention and without justifying and without ANYONE else helping me. This IS ALL ME!
Today is my 3rd day into quitting cigarettes. And I've done this 3 times in the past month... just to prove that I really am in control. The xanax will come later; my anxiety is clinical. But everything else I've mentioned has been on MY terms! and I'll be damned if I'll buy any stupid excuse anyone throws my way about "Oh, I want to. Its just..." or " I can't right now, I'm just not strong enough to..." or " My parents didn't love me and I dont think I can just..".
Try putting all that energy into yourself STOPPING. Whatever it is. And see how good you feel. Take my word for it. It's a good feeling to do something for yourself, by yourself. Even if it is temporary; practicing self control is empowering and amazing.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Just one of those flood days
I strongly advise not having regrets. And on days like Friday, February 18th, 2011... I had one of those 'Damnit, I wish I would have wrote about that' moments. There are some days I just exhaust, some days I pound on my keyboard like a boxer, and some days I just forget to focus on the things I need to.
You ever have one of those random movie watching sessions where you actually pick a movie thats totally, completely meant for you? Like it speaks to your space, where you are and what you've been going through? God, I love those. I had one earlier this week when I watched 'Blue Valentine', which was a complete heart explosion. I shouldn't have watched that on the day before V-Day, but none the less- totally made my lip quiver. Just a little while ago, I finished watching ' Its Kind of a Funny Story'. I'm pretty sure I engaged in every emotion I've ever had! For one, it dealt with an identical situation I put myself into. And two, just a cute love story. So it inspired me to write some open honest things about myself because really... I have no shame. And if I can't wear who I am out here, then I'm just naked... and thats more embarrassing in my opinion. Here I go:
1.) Yes, I was institutionalized when I was 19 for 5 days. Watch the movie I just mentioned if you want to know why/how/exactly what happened while I was in there.
2.) Not only do I sing in the shower, but I dance. Which is quite dangerous. There's just something about music and being naked that I just can't control.
3.) If you've ever lived with me, you've probably heard some attempts at beat boxing. That was me. For some reason, I convince myself I can do it. I'm probably horrible.
4.) Guilty pleasures: Jersey Shore, movies that are cry-worthy, sleeping in late, eating really really badly.
5.) I talk to my dog in a baby voice. Usually about in depth topics like the after life, how much I love her and wont give up on her, and sometimes- she licks up my tears.
6.) I've been with only 2 females. And thats completely on purpose. Is there such thing as fear of sex?
7.) I save every email from only one person. Most of them are meaningless but for me, they mean the world... still...
8.) I used to be the guy to pull his cock out at social events.
9.) I have really skinny legs. But they go fast damnit!!
10.) I manscape, and there's no reason for it other than I hate body hair.
11.) I broke a 15 year standing bench press record at my high school 5 years ago, which will remain up there FOREVER !!! thats right.
12.) I have a strong moral code that involves breaking my morals occasionally.
13.) I cut my own hair and always have and always will.
You ever have one of those random movie watching sessions where you actually pick a movie thats totally, completely meant for you? Like it speaks to your space, where you are and what you've been going through? God, I love those. I had one earlier this week when I watched 'Blue Valentine', which was a complete heart explosion. I shouldn't have watched that on the day before V-Day, but none the less- totally made my lip quiver. Just a little while ago, I finished watching ' Its Kind of a Funny Story'. I'm pretty sure I engaged in every emotion I've ever had! For one, it dealt with an identical situation I put myself into. And two, just a cute love story. So it inspired me to write some open honest things about myself because really... I have no shame. And if I can't wear who I am out here, then I'm just naked... and thats more embarrassing in my opinion. Here I go:
1.) Yes, I was institutionalized when I was 19 for 5 days. Watch the movie I just mentioned if you want to know why/how/exactly what happened while I was in there.
2.) Not only do I sing in the shower, but I dance. Which is quite dangerous. There's just something about music and being naked that I just can't control.
3.) If you've ever lived with me, you've probably heard some attempts at beat boxing. That was me. For some reason, I convince myself I can do it. I'm probably horrible.
4.) Guilty pleasures: Jersey Shore, movies that are cry-worthy, sleeping in late, eating really really badly.
5.) I talk to my dog in a baby voice. Usually about in depth topics like the after life, how much I love her and wont give up on her, and sometimes- she licks up my tears.
6.) I've been with only 2 females. And thats completely on purpose. Is there such thing as fear of sex?
7.) I save every email from only one person. Most of them are meaningless but for me, they mean the world... still...
8.) I used to be the guy to pull his cock out at social events.
9.) I have really skinny legs. But they go fast damnit!!
10.) I manscape, and there's no reason for it other than I hate body hair.
11.) I broke a 15 year standing bench press record at my high school 5 years ago, which will remain up there FOREVER !!! thats right.
12.) I have a strong moral code that involves breaking my morals occasionally.
13.) I cut my own hair and always have and always will.
Stale
I'm feeling that timer going off in me. Its telling me something, if not everything, has to start moving soon. Being sick during a transitional period is like changing your oil then getting a flat tire; it's a obstruction you could do without. With me giving the boot to all my crutches and centering myself in me finally, I was hoping the universe was going to give me some credit. I was hoping it would give me that extra little push of confidence. But no. It decided to say " Hey, you gave up on drugs? Wow, and your making some life choices finally? Well good for you... let me beat you for a little longer." Stupid expectations. Note to self: Don't think life is going to cooperate with you during your hardships. It will more than likely scream and kick and pull your hair through all of it.
This year is supposed to be a pretty big one for me. Its supposed to be a year for finding my strengths and myself. For appreciating solitude and introspection, even if its difficult at times. And for mentally maturing past certain road blocks. Numerology has such a complicated algorithm and such on-point insights that its hard for me to categorize it with horoscopes or other generalized bullshit. Even some of the biggest skeptics I know have looked at their year number and said 'damn, really?'. Its hard for me to articulate what steps I've already made besides the blatantly obvious ones like breaking my own addictions. Some days, I question if I've really made any progress. But I have. Baby steps, baby steps, baby steps.
As this week draws to an end, I've closed in a on few conclusions that I need to stick to. Or at least try. For one: the substance of a friendship is quantified by thought and time. If there is little to no thought, and neither give the time, that relationship has expired and its best to throw it into that 'talk when we see each other' bin. Two: perception of what your entitled to can be a double edged sword. If thinking that you do, therefore, you receive (blank)- is right or 'fair', I'm sorry to tell you but not every action = something. Sometimes, you dont get anything. And that's life... Three: don't think you matter that much. Especially if its to busy people. I am having to accept this in little doses because somewhere through all these lines, I've hoped that they were reaching at least the person I wanted them to. But they aren't. That person doesn't care. This may be the only medium I have to attempt talking with them, but I might as well pick up a phone with a dial tone and just talk. I'd get the same response. Also, emails need to stop. If that person doesn't want to be my friend, that's pretty much my answer. No need to keep wishing and bothering them.
And four: I'm beginning to accept love as one feeling that I'm gradually giving up on pursuing. Slowly, but I'm to that point. After all, I dont even fucking know what the word means. It's like the word xenobiotic or tabescent to me but worse; at least those words you can look up in a dictionary but love doesn't have a universal definition. I've never been close to understanding it. I've never felt romantic love reciprocated. I feel like my heart is so capable of that emotion but all the universe has gifted it with in return is lumps of coal and tears. Maybe, love is just XENOBIOTIC to my core... I'm trying to be okay with that.
This year is supposed to be a pretty big one for me. Its supposed to be a year for finding my strengths and myself. For appreciating solitude and introspection, even if its difficult at times. And for mentally maturing past certain road blocks. Numerology has such a complicated algorithm and such on-point insights that its hard for me to categorize it with horoscopes or other generalized bullshit. Even some of the biggest skeptics I know have looked at their year number and said 'damn, really?'. Its hard for me to articulate what steps I've already made besides the blatantly obvious ones like breaking my own addictions. Some days, I question if I've really made any progress. But I have. Baby steps, baby steps, baby steps.
As this week draws to an end, I've closed in a on few conclusions that I need to stick to. Or at least try. For one: the substance of a friendship is quantified by thought and time. If there is little to no thought, and neither give the time, that relationship has expired and its best to throw it into that 'talk when we see each other' bin. Two: perception of what your entitled to can be a double edged sword. If thinking that you do, therefore, you receive (blank)- is right or 'fair', I'm sorry to tell you but not every action = something. Sometimes, you dont get anything. And that's life... Three: don't think you matter that much. Especially if its to busy people. I am having to accept this in little doses because somewhere through all these lines, I've hoped that they were reaching at least the person I wanted them to. But they aren't. That person doesn't care. This may be the only medium I have to attempt talking with them, but I might as well pick up a phone with a dial tone and just talk. I'd get the same response. Also, emails need to stop. If that person doesn't want to be my friend, that's pretty much my answer. No need to keep wishing and bothering them.
And four: I'm beginning to accept love as one feeling that I'm gradually giving up on pursuing. Slowly, but I'm to that point. After all, I dont even fucking know what the word means. It's like the word xenobiotic or tabescent to me but worse; at least those words you can look up in a dictionary but love doesn't have a universal definition. I've never been close to understanding it. I've never felt romantic love reciprocated. I feel like my heart is so capable of that emotion but all the universe has gifted it with in return is lumps of coal and tears. Maybe, love is just XENOBIOTIC to my core... I'm trying to be okay with that.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
For Shana... 2-16-11
"We must embrace this pain and burn it as our fuel for the journey"
Not even 6 months ago, you left a comment on a blog of mine. It said..
"i think u have already embraced UR OWN insight! and for some people that can be the biggest hurdle.
i think it takes a lot of courage to let ur feelings out in the open, public, and that they're REALly how u feel.
i do believe everything happens for a reason and everything that has happened in ur life IS what formed u into the person you are today, some may call it BEAUTIFUL and some may call it ugly...its all what YOU make of it.
KEEP YA HEAD UP AND LIVE TO LIVE ANOTHER DAY!
live ur life the way YOU want to!
do what makes you truely happy and u will see each day will be better than the next if u live that way
PS. THANKS FOR SHARING."
Your words about living didn't fall on deaf ears. I listened. And today, even at the very bottom, I am still rejoicing for your relief. Your struggle, I wasn't aware of. I'm sure it was hard the last few months. If anyone knows the battles with cancer; the ups and downs of that demon, the brute force of toxins to cure toxins- it's me. I've watched the ones who brought me into this world go 1 for 1 in that game. I've caught up with individuals along the way who wear 'survivor' tattoos in the form of scars from neck to naval. The universe didn't place these events in my life arbitrarily. They were meant for me. Just like your destination was meant for you. I just wish it wasn't so soon.
If death is what it takes to bring all of us closer, then thank you. But not only for this; thank you for being that gem in all of our memory box. There are plenty of teenage stories you are apart of: after school smoke and rides, hazy friday nights in Kevins basement, my fancy local rave, and on some of my lowest days, you were there to pick me up and bog me out to let me forget. But you wont be forgotten. You will remain that gem. The tiniest girl with the biggest energy. You crazy little lady you.
I'm sorry I never got to say bye to you. Or smoke you down like I said I would. The toughest part about this is knowing your phone number doesn't connect to your voice anymore. I'll save it though. It'll be the gem in my phone as well.
You have so many answers right now I've always wished for. For many of us, this is heart breaking. But we have to remember to celebrate you. That death gives all of us more the reason to live with purpose. To not let the passing of your dad, or my mom, or YOU go in vain.
I didn't want to leave this on your facebook; I feel all of those comments are the same. Instead, I wanted to write this to you. For you. For your war and your heart and the memories. Rest peacefully, Shana. Hug our loved ones for us. We love you.
Not even 6 months ago, you left a comment on a blog of mine. It said..
"i think u have already embraced UR OWN insight! and for some people that can be the biggest hurdle.
i think it takes a lot of courage to let ur feelings out in the open, public, and that they're REALly how u feel.
i do believe everything happens for a reason and everything that has happened in ur life IS what formed u into the person you are today, some may call it BEAUTIFUL and some may call it ugly...its all what YOU make of it.
KEEP YA HEAD UP AND LIVE TO LIVE ANOTHER DAY!
live ur life the way YOU want to!
do what makes you truely happy and u will see each day will be better than the next if u live that way
PS. THANKS FOR SHARING."
Your words about living didn't fall on deaf ears. I listened. And today, even at the very bottom, I am still rejoicing for your relief. Your struggle, I wasn't aware of. I'm sure it was hard the last few months. If anyone knows the battles with cancer; the ups and downs of that demon, the brute force of toxins to cure toxins- it's me. I've watched the ones who brought me into this world go 1 for 1 in that game. I've caught up with individuals along the way who wear 'survivor' tattoos in the form of scars from neck to naval. The universe didn't place these events in my life arbitrarily. They were meant for me. Just like your destination was meant for you. I just wish it wasn't so soon.
If death is what it takes to bring all of us closer, then thank you. But not only for this; thank you for being that gem in all of our memory box. There are plenty of teenage stories you are apart of: after school smoke and rides, hazy friday nights in Kevins basement, my fancy local rave, and on some of my lowest days, you were there to pick me up and bog me out to let me forget. But you wont be forgotten. You will remain that gem. The tiniest girl with the biggest energy. You crazy little lady you.
I'm sorry I never got to say bye to you. Or smoke you down like I said I would. The toughest part about this is knowing your phone number doesn't connect to your voice anymore. I'll save it though. It'll be the gem in my phone as well.
You have so many answers right now I've always wished for. For many of us, this is heart breaking. But we have to remember to celebrate you. That death gives all of us more the reason to live with purpose. To not let the passing of your dad, or my mom, or YOU go in vain.
I didn't want to leave this on your facebook; I feel all of those comments are the same. Instead, I wanted to write this to you. For you. For your war and your heart and the memories. Rest peacefully, Shana. Hug our loved ones for us. We love you.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Questioning the Questions
My dad told me when I was going through a rough patch in sports during middle school, 'if you want something bad enough, you work through the pain'. Now he's 54 years old and still a religious runner. He also has had every surgery possible on his knee's, just recently developing arthritis in his right one. Hearing this at a young age had almost zero effect. It felt authoritative and belittling. But looking at him now, almost 10 years later, I'm not sure whether or not he got what he wanted. Was working through the pain worth the physical damage? Does this advice even have value coming from him? Or was this just an attempt to get his kid to give a shit?
I can't tell. But I do know I've held onto that proverb. Coming from my experience, I'm always trudging through a certain amount of pain. Addiction taunting, epic loneliness, rejection around every corner, longing for the things I don't have and receiving everything I don't want. The one thing I do want from life is true happiness. Whatever that may be. And I feel like I've always been pursuing it, yet... all I have to show for that search is battle scars and missing pieces.
So out pops the philosophical side of my psyche: Predestined or choice. I've flirted with this concept on several levels but right now, it's driving me insane.
If every move in my life has been planned by the universe, and all I've experienced is constant runs through gauntlets and valleys... what exactly is the lesson? I know I could simply answer this with some motivational nonsense and say 'This is all to make me stronger for tomorrow'. But I'm done with that rhetoric. I am stronger. I have learned to an extent. But if the plan is for me to keep going through this darkness with the only thing to look forward to being more whips and beatings... well, the universe is a cruel bitch then. And I dont see an incentive to keep going.
However, I can't not believe in a path. I believe we all have one, with pit stops and detours and flat tires. I have to buy into it. Looking at all the people I've encountered; all the individuals who I've stumbled across who have picked me up or taken me under their wing or inspired me or befriended me or dated me... there is simply too many people in the world for a coincidence. The probability is enormous that I would find some really unnecessary situations. But none of them have been. All of them have been placed in my life as mile markers for a reason. Just... what is that god damn reason? Especially if its painful...
If this ultimate fate does exist, that means that I was meant to lose a parent at a young age. That means I was meant to be insecure. That means I was meant to be taken advantage of. That means I was meant to attempt suicide numerous times unsuccessfully. That means I was meant to go to jail on several occasions. That means I was supposed to have a broken, savaged heart. But this also means... I met YOU for a reason. We may not be able to figure it out yet but if this theory is sound, there is a reason. But living that question is hurting more than just knowing the fucking answer...
I've made it to 'dude' status with you. I get it; at this point, 'dude' status is better than none at all... even if it is mostly constructed from sympathy. But somewhere deep inside me I have this magnet for you. I just can't tell if its right. If pursuing that force is in the cards for me. Or for you. Or if we would even be good in any way for each other. If our minds would collide instead of mesh. If our opposite lifes will ever meet halfway. If all the preplanned conversations I've had in my head with you would even happen that way... or at all.
Giving up entirely feels wrong. I can't deny the physics of a magnet. The energy is there. I just wish I knew where this is leading me...
It's 5 am. I just got a call on my answering machine from Afghanistan. Today was the day I had planned on making it to the recruiting office to take my ASVAB... and I didn't. Instead, I get a call from someone I wasn't sure I was going to see again, telling me he heard I was coming in and wanted to talk to me about it first.
All these signs... where are they pointing me? Give me a clue life... just one.
I can't tell. But I do know I've held onto that proverb. Coming from my experience, I'm always trudging through a certain amount of pain. Addiction taunting, epic loneliness, rejection around every corner, longing for the things I don't have and receiving everything I don't want. The one thing I do want from life is true happiness. Whatever that may be. And I feel like I've always been pursuing it, yet... all I have to show for that search is battle scars and missing pieces.
So out pops the philosophical side of my psyche: Predestined or choice. I've flirted with this concept on several levels but right now, it's driving me insane.
If every move in my life has been planned by the universe, and all I've experienced is constant runs through gauntlets and valleys... what exactly is the lesson? I know I could simply answer this with some motivational nonsense and say 'This is all to make me stronger for tomorrow'. But I'm done with that rhetoric. I am stronger. I have learned to an extent. But if the plan is for me to keep going through this darkness with the only thing to look forward to being more whips and beatings... well, the universe is a cruel bitch then. And I dont see an incentive to keep going.
However, I can't not believe in a path. I believe we all have one, with pit stops and detours and flat tires. I have to buy into it. Looking at all the people I've encountered; all the individuals who I've stumbled across who have picked me up or taken me under their wing or inspired me or befriended me or dated me... there is simply too many people in the world for a coincidence. The probability is enormous that I would find some really unnecessary situations. But none of them have been. All of them have been placed in my life as mile markers for a reason. Just... what is that god damn reason? Especially if its painful...
If this ultimate fate does exist, that means that I was meant to lose a parent at a young age. That means I was meant to be insecure. That means I was meant to be taken advantage of. That means I was meant to attempt suicide numerous times unsuccessfully. That means I was meant to go to jail on several occasions. That means I was supposed to have a broken, savaged heart. But this also means... I met YOU for a reason. We may not be able to figure it out yet but if this theory is sound, there is a reason. But living that question is hurting more than just knowing the fucking answer...
I've made it to 'dude' status with you. I get it; at this point, 'dude' status is better than none at all... even if it is mostly constructed from sympathy. But somewhere deep inside me I have this magnet for you. I just can't tell if its right. If pursuing that force is in the cards for me. Or for you. Or if we would even be good in any way for each other. If our minds would collide instead of mesh. If our opposite lifes will ever meet halfway. If all the preplanned conversations I've had in my head with you would even happen that way... or at all.
Giving up entirely feels wrong. I can't deny the physics of a magnet. The energy is there. I just wish I knew where this is leading me...
It's 5 am. I just got a call on my answering machine from Afghanistan. Today was the day I had planned on making it to the recruiting office to take my ASVAB... and I didn't. Instead, I get a call from someone I wasn't sure I was going to see again, telling me he heard I was coming in and wanted to talk to me about it first.
All these signs... where are they pointing me? Give me a clue life... just one.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Today, I am my Valentine.
Practice what you believe and it will pay off somehow.
Today is a horrible day in my book for many reasons. The past two major 'relationships' I've been in have either started on Valentines or had anniversaries that fall on the 14th. Being a romantic can be such a cliche. I'm glad I've grown up a little. Regardless, I'm not going to sit here and say 'Valentines is for roses and boxes of chocolate and candle lit dinners'. And I'm also not going to be the one to say ' Valentines is bullshit and we shouldn't have to have a specific day designated for expressing our love'. Both responses are on the opposite sides of the stereotype spectrum.
Instead, today is going to be all about myself for once. My goal is to genuinely smile. So in accordance with that, I'm going to list some of the things that make me happy:
1.) The love of my life :)
2.) The people who have picked me up at my lowest.
3.) Memories
Today is a horrible day in my book for many reasons. The past two major 'relationships' I've been in have either started on Valentines or had anniversaries that fall on the 14th. Being a romantic can be such a cliche. I'm glad I've grown up a little. Regardless, I'm not going to sit here and say 'Valentines is for roses and boxes of chocolate and candle lit dinners'. And I'm also not going to be the one to say ' Valentines is bullshit and we shouldn't have to have a specific day designated for expressing our love'. Both responses are on the opposite sides of the stereotype spectrum.
Instead, today is going to be all about myself for once. My goal is to genuinely smile. So in accordance with that, I'm going to list some of the things that make me happy:
1.) The love of my life :)
2.) The people who have picked me up at my lowest.
3.) Memories
Sunday, February 13, 2011
"If you're going through hell, keep on going."
I remember cracking my head open as a child. One of my earliest memories. I was wearing a rad jean jacket, and some osh-kosh-b-gosh overalls. It was a Tuesday and a friend of mine had come over before afternoon kindergarten. We were on an old, rusty seesaw swing in my back yard. I remember her facing me and tempting the idea of going higher and higher. This, of course, was not a problem for me. Even when the entire set began to shake and lean, I still felt like there was no stopping my desire to touch the sky. It was only when I decided to put my head out in reach of the side beams that I got a rude awakening: trying too hard can hurt. I remember falling, back-first off the swing, landing and having that automated confused crying reflex most children have. I was a tough little guy, but when I felt my own blood for the first time, that just simply exceeded my pain experience. My mother rushed outside immediately. I think she watched the entire thing happen from the kitchen window like a car accident. She picked me up, put a towel over my forehead and rushed me to the old hatchback Taurus. As I got in the passenger side, with tears and blood slowly soaking into my jacket, I slammed my right hand in the car door.
From that day on, we labeled that jean jacket as 'the unlucky jacket'. I don't remember what happened to it, but I'm pretty sure the doctor sewed me up with its threads. Embedding that luck into my skin so that, later on in life, I would always be able to find a more painful experience.
What I've learned since is that flesh wounds hurt. Shattering knuckles, braking your nose, slitting your wrists. But some of the worst wounds... are the ones no one else can see. The ones that are invisible to the naked eye. Sometimes, even to yourself.
Today I am hurting. And I'm not bleeding or sore from lifting or burnt. I'm not worried about money. I'm not low on food. I'm seemingly in the same condition I was yesterday. But today... my insides are in need of being picked up. I feel like I'm missing something I never had. Like there's acid in place of where my heart should be.
It is that time of year though. Some days, I think I've healed most of those wounds. The ones of being cheated on or cheated out of love or cheating yourself into thinking you're in love. Looking back, they mostly seem remedial. Prerequisites for where I am. But right now, I'm feeling the short comings of my growth.
I haven't healed. I am still broken. I am still hurting. I haven't made as much progress as I had hoped. I guess just because at times I can think back without tears- doesn't mean tomorrow I will. Tomorrow is today sooner than you think. And today fucking sucks.
I wish there was a breaker box for crying right about now. My eyes have shorted. And it all began with a simple look at a picture. Just one picture of something I never had, never will have and never can sent me into a whirlwind. My stitches have come undone. Currently internally bleeding. Quickly learning how to live half a life.
I want a hug.
I remember cracking my head open as a child. One of my earliest memories. I was wearing a rad jean jacket, and some osh-kosh-b-gosh overalls. It was a Tuesday and a friend of mine had come over before afternoon kindergarten. We were on an old, rusty seesaw swing in my back yard. I remember her facing me and tempting the idea of going higher and higher. This, of course, was not a problem for me. Even when the entire set began to shake and lean, I still felt like there was no stopping my desire to touch the sky. It was only when I decided to put my head out in reach of the side beams that I got a rude awakening: trying too hard can hurt. I remember falling, back-first off the swing, landing and having that automated confused crying reflex most children have. I was a tough little guy, but when I felt my own blood for the first time, that just simply exceeded my pain experience. My mother rushed outside immediately. I think she watched the entire thing happen from the kitchen window like a car accident. She picked me up, put a towel over my forehead and rushed me to the old hatchback Taurus. As I got in the passenger side, with tears and blood slowly soaking into my jacket, I slammed my right hand in the car door.
From that day on, we labeled that jean jacket as 'the unlucky jacket'. I don't remember what happened to it, but I'm pretty sure the doctor sewed me up with its threads. Embedding that luck into my skin so that, later on in life, I would always be able to find a more painful experience.
What I've learned since is that flesh wounds hurt. Shattering knuckles, braking your nose, slitting your wrists. But some of the worst wounds... are the ones no one else can see. The ones that are invisible to the naked eye. Sometimes, even to yourself.
Today I am hurting. And I'm not bleeding or sore from lifting or burnt. I'm not worried about money. I'm not low on food. I'm seemingly in the same condition I was yesterday. But today... my insides are in need of being picked up. I feel like I'm missing something I never had. Like there's acid in place of where my heart should be.
It is that time of year though. Some days, I think I've healed most of those wounds. The ones of being cheated on or cheated out of love or cheating yourself into thinking you're in love. Looking back, they mostly seem remedial. Prerequisites for where I am. But right now, I'm feeling the short comings of my growth.
I haven't healed. I am still broken. I am still hurting. I haven't made as much progress as I had hoped. I guess just because at times I can think back without tears- doesn't mean tomorrow I will. Tomorrow is today sooner than you think. And today fucking sucks.
I wish there was a breaker box for crying right about now. My eyes have shorted. And it all began with a simple look at a picture. Just one picture of something I never had, never will have and never can sent me into a whirlwind. My stitches have come undone. Currently internally bleeding. Quickly learning how to live half a life.
I want a hug.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Wookies and Jesus
"I have examined all the known superstitions of the world and I do not find
in our particular superstition of Christianity one redeeming feature. They
are all alike founded on fables and mythology..."
I'm sure, if you're American, you would think this is a quote from the Salem Witch Trials. Maybe from Nietzche? Osama Bin Laden possibly? This couldn't have been wrote by any esteemed, respected patriot could it?
"Christianity (has become) the most perverted system that ever shone on
man...Roguery, absurdities and untruths were perpetrated upon the
teachings of Jesus by a large band of dupes and imposters led by Paul, the
first great corrupter of the teachings of Jesus."
- Thomas Jefferson
... Sorry, America. Your founding fathers didn't rep the Bible. At all. Thomas Paine, John Adams, James Madison... None of them spoke on Christianity with conviction. This country was infiltrated originally by some staunch, die hard Christians, yes. They graced this land with brutal genocide and theft as well. But the country we live in, that we have rights and a constitution under, was not founded by fundamentalists. It was founded by skeptics and in the belief of free will and choice (check our amendments). Not God.
Capital Hill and CNN is full of morons. To project God and the fear of his 'wrath' into our policies is soooo George Bush II. And that's not a good thing. Its a scapegoat. A mere smoke screen. The percentage of reasons to invade or attack countries in the name of God is remarkably stupid. However, this isn't my point. This is just a premise.
Horus, the Egyptian God, was said to have had a virgin birth. Visited by three kings. Turned water into wine. Baptized in a river by a character Anup- who was later beheaded. He cured the blind. Raised El-Azar (translated down to 'Lazarus') from the dead. Walked on water. Horus's said 'parents' were the sibling Gods Osiris (who was killed by his brother, Seth- who was the archetype for the Christian Satan) and Isis. Making Horus... son of God.
Krishna, Hindu God of love, was a carpenter. Born of a virgin. Baptized in a river. 1000 years before Jesus.
Mithra, Persian God, 600 years before Jesus, born December 25th. Performed miracles. Resurrected on the third day. Known as the lamb, the way, the truth, the light...
Anakin Skywalker, modern day mythos, was also born to a virgin. Had a light saber. Enlightened with the force, a power only believers and practitioners could obtain. Fought off evil. Proclaimed sci-fy badass.
Now, if all you're familiar with out of these is Star Wars, so be it. That's all that matters. This is a massive piece of our cultural folklore. Created by Hollywood and nerds. Great series of movies, but just imagine for a second if a mass majority of people throughout the world believed... that Anakin was God. Does that seem silly to you? Because to me... it just sounds like every other system of belief. It would kind of be like believing Jesus is God. Or Horus. Or Krishna. Or whoever else. It would be taking stories created for entertainment/ learning LITERALLY instead of metaphorically. Just like a light saber and Jaba the Hut and Wookies and shit seem a little far fetched, well... so does a dude living a wale for 3 weeks. Or a woman being made from a mans ribs. Or a talking bush. Come on now people, why is it that religion excludes reason and reality?
In conclusion, until I see R2D2 or Lake Michigan split in half or a newspaper article about a local high school girl immaculately impregnated- I will continue to take all of these stories as just that.
Remember, religion and myths have been around forever. But the gap between science and myth is extremely wide and modern science has had an exponentially shorter existence. Take that for what it means.
in our particular superstition of Christianity one redeeming feature. They
are all alike founded on fables and mythology..."
I'm sure, if you're American, you would think this is a quote from the Salem Witch Trials. Maybe from Nietzche? Osama Bin Laden possibly? This couldn't have been wrote by any esteemed, respected patriot could it?
"Christianity (has become) the most perverted system that ever shone on
man...Roguery, absurdities and untruths were perpetrated upon the
teachings of Jesus by a large band of dupes and imposters led by Paul, the
first great corrupter of the teachings of Jesus."
- Thomas Jefferson
... Sorry, America. Your founding fathers didn't rep the Bible. At all. Thomas Paine, John Adams, James Madison... None of them spoke on Christianity with conviction. This country was infiltrated originally by some staunch, die hard Christians, yes. They graced this land with brutal genocide and theft as well. But the country we live in, that we have rights and a constitution under, was not founded by fundamentalists. It was founded by skeptics and in the belief of free will and choice (check our amendments). Not God.
Capital Hill and CNN is full of morons. To project God and the fear of his 'wrath' into our policies is soooo George Bush II. And that's not a good thing. Its a scapegoat. A mere smoke screen. The percentage of reasons to invade or attack countries in the name of God is remarkably stupid. However, this isn't my point. This is just a premise.
Horus, the Egyptian God, was said to have had a virgin birth. Visited by three kings. Turned water into wine. Baptized in a river by a character Anup- who was later beheaded. He cured the blind. Raised El-Azar (translated down to 'Lazarus') from the dead. Walked on water. Horus's said 'parents' were the sibling Gods Osiris (who was killed by his brother, Seth- who was the archetype for the Christian Satan) and Isis. Making Horus... son of God.
Krishna, Hindu God of love, was a carpenter. Born of a virgin. Baptized in a river. 1000 years before Jesus.
Mithra, Persian God, 600 years before Jesus, born December 25th. Performed miracles. Resurrected on the third day. Known as the lamb, the way, the truth, the light...
Anakin Skywalker, modern day mythos, was also born to a virgin. Had a light saber. Enlightened with the force, a power only believers and practitioners could obtain. Fought off evil. Proclaimed sci-fy badass.
Now, if all you're familiar with out of these is Star Wars, so be it. That's all that matters. This is a massive piece of our cultural folklore. Created by Hollywood and nerds. Great series of movies, but just imagine for a second if a mass majority of people throughout the world believed... that Anakin was God. Does that seem silly to you? Because to me... it just sounds like every other system of belief. It would kind of be like believing Jesus is God. Or Horus. Or Krishna. Or whoever else. It would be taking stories created for entertainment/ learning LITERALLY instead of metaphorically. Just like a light saber and Jaba the Hut and Wookies and shit seem a little far fetched, well... so does a dude living a wale for 3 weeks. Or a woman being made from a mans ribs. Or a talking bush. Come on now people, why is it that religion excludes reason and reality?
In conclusion, until I see R2D2 or Lake Michigan split in half or a newspaper article about a local high school girl immaculately impregnated- I will continue to take all of these stories as just that.
Remember, religion and myths have been around forever. But the gap between science and myth is extremely wide and modern science has had an exponentially shorter existence. Take that for what it means.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Don't lite a match around this one.
I woke up today thinking about language. Usually, I do but today I was focusing on the excess and access we have to it. We all have minds full of words. If not, we all at least have dictionaries full of them. And the great thing about the blank page is that it doesn't discriminate. It doesn't correct you ( unless you can't spell, which in that case, is a plus). It doesn't judge or comment on your choice of words.
There are a few things I loathe. One: pants. Two: politicians. and Three: censorship. I understand when I was in high school and I'd insert the word 'shit' in place of the word 'things' or 'garbage', that was breaking the rules and censorship was a must for the teachers. But once you reach a certain point in your writing, and you've developed a voice and a style (and you don't have a rule book to abide by)... fucking say what ever you damn well please! Period. I dont care if 'my choice of words could be a little more tactful'. I respond to those critics with a 'yeah, well then dont read my shit.' Respect the language for what it holds. Respect our freedoms for what they entail. If I wanted to sit here and be pro- abortion or be pro- gay rights or be pro- pit bulls, I will write that opinion as vividly impacting as I can articulate. Remember, some of the most passionate people haven't been peaceful. Or kind with words. Sometimes, a good slap with the f bomb wakes you up and makes you pay attention.
Most of this was inspired by a comment I read. It was left on someone's blog post thing somewhere on these websites and it pissed me off. First off, this person is a talented writer. She holds more skill in her words than I could ever dream of. But because she has 'little people' who potentially could stumble across her writing, a 'concerned, disappointed' mother decided it'd be best to critique her and say she just can't believe 'said person' would say FUCK in her blog......
To which she responded with a very humble apology. Kudos for taking the high road on that one.
Let me say what I need to: first off, the word fuck is one of the most fucking useful words in our language. Noun, adjective, verb, transitive verb, intransitive verb, adverb... you can make entire sentences out of it. Second off, the word fuck that she used... was in a god damn quote. In order for a quote to be a direct quote (which is usually best when you fucking quote someone), you dont omit words or add words or do anything to the quote. You just copy and paste. Had they been her actual words, maybe I'd understand the 'concerned disappointment'. Maybe. Only because 'said person' does have quite the following of youngin's. It'd be kind of like if Ronald McDonald came out in on a commercial and said 'Hey you little bastards! Come buy my Happy Meal or I'll fuck your mom and make your parents divorce and leave you on the street eating out of dumpsters.' That's just not the audience for that. Though, I think more kids would be begging for Happy Meals.... (think about it McDonalds.)
The second someone tries to step across this border- the one that's labeled by MY words and MY thoughts and ME... and tries to tell ME what THEY think I should be writing or not writing, is the second you just started a war with the wrong poet. I will gladly listen. I will gladly respond. But my response will be a proverbial broom stick shoved up your proverbial ass. Splinters and all. So next time, before you think about giving your two cents about someone else's thoughts, how about you write your every thought down on page. And let people see them. The few of us who allow others to see the workings of our insides know that NOT EVERY THOUGHT WE HAVE IS PLEASANT. Its not the Wizard of Oz in here. Or Snow White. Or the fucking Bible.
Its real. Get over it.
There are a few things I loathe. One: pants. Two: politicians. and Three: censorship. I understand when I was in high school and I'd insert the word 'shit' in place of the word 'things' or 'garbage', that was breaking the rules and censorship was a must for the teachers. But once you reach a certain point in your writing, and you've developed a voice and a style (and you don't have a rule book to abide by)... fucking say what ever you damn well please! Period. I dont care if 'my choice of words could be a little more tactful'. I respond to those critics with a 'yeah, well then dont read my shit.' Respect the language for what it holds. Respect our freedoms for what they entail. If I wanted to sit here and be pro- abortion or be pro- gay rights or be pro- pit bulls, I will write that opinion as vividly impacting as I can articulate. Remember, some of the most passionate people haven't been peaceful. Or kind with words. Sometimes, a good slap with the f bomb wakes you up and makes you pay attention.
Most of this was inspired by a comment I read. It was left on someone's blog post thing somewhere on these websites and it pissed me off. First off, this person is a talented writer. She holds more skill in her words than I could ever dream of. But because she has 'little people' who potentially could stumble across her writing, a 'concerned, disappointed' mother decided it'd be best to critique her and say she just can't believe 'said person' would say FUCK in her blog......
To which she responded with a very humble apology. Kudos for taking the high road on that one.
Let me say what I need to: first off, the word fuck is one of the most fucking useful words in our language. Noun, adjective, verb, transitive verb, intransitive verb, adverb... you can make entire sentences out of it. Second off, the word fuck that she used... was in a god damn quote. In order for a quote to be a direct quote (which is usually best when you fucking quote someone), you dont omit words or add words or do anything to the quote. You just copy and paste. Had they been her actual words, maybe I'd understand the 'concerned disappointment'. Maybe. Only because 'said person' does have quite the following of youngin's. It'd be kind of like if Ronald McDonald came out in on a commercial and said 'Hey you little bastards! Come buy my Happy Meal or I'll fuck your mom and make your parents divorce and leave you on the street eating out of dumpsters.' That's just not the audience for that. Though, I think more kids would be begging for Happy Meals.... (think about it McDonalds.)
The second someone tries to step across this border- the one that's labeled by MY words and MY thoughts and ME... and tries to tell ME what THEY think I should be writing or not writing, is the second you just started a war with the wrong poet. I will gladly listen. I will gladly respond. But my response will be a proverbial broom stick shoved up your proverbial ass. Splinters and all. So next time, before you think about giving your two cents about someone else's thoughts, how about you write your every thought down on page. And let people see them. The few of us who allow others to see the workings of our insides know that NOT EVERY THOUGHT WE HAVE IS PLEASANT. Its not the Wizard of Oz in here. Or Snow White. Or the fucking Bible.
Its real. Get over it.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
New Land
These are a few of the discoveries I've settled into. In no specific order or theme, I'll list them:
1.) Brilliance is accidental and never forced.
2.) Its not the amount of girls you sleep with that makes you a man. Its the amount of emotion your willing to shed openly that does. Crying is a sign you're real.
3.) There is no destination. Where ever you are, there you are.
4.) What makes you someone is believing you are.
5.) Dogs are mans best friend because dogs are mans best invention. Remember, they'd all still be wolfs if we didn't invest into changing them.
6.) Be a good friend. But mainly to yourself.
7.) Don't be self absorbed, but do be selfish sometimes. Others can take care of themselves, but you can only take care of you.
8.) Fucking forgive yourself. No one else is going to do it.
9.) The devil is alive and active in the world. I have scars to prove it.
10.) If something is too good to be true, don't give up on it. Sometimes we get what we want.
11.) Be thankful with actions. Words get lost over time.
12.) Believe in something. Whatever it may be. Faith is one of the most powerful propellants.
13.) I'm not ready to have kids, but when I am, I want to adopt. My genes are hard enough for me to wear day to day, I dont want to hand them down to the next generation.
14.) Change your mind often. Speculation funnels into motivation to be different.
15.) Age matters after a certain point and to a certain point. Example: I will not date you if you're a teen or still act like one. Nor will I date you if your 50 and think you're still 'with it'.
16.) Numbers are confusing.
17.) Be okay with nudity. We all came into this world bare assed and beautiful. Be proud of the skin you were given.
18.) This is as high as I can count.
1.) Brilliance is accidental and never forced.
2.) Its not the amount of girls you sleep with that makes you a man. Its the amount of emotion your willing to shed openly that does. Crying is a sign you're real.
3.) There is no destination. Where ever you are, there you are.
4.) What makes you someone is believing you are.
5.) Dogs are mans best friend because dogs are mans best invention. Remember, they'd all still be wolfs if we didn't invest into changing them.
6.) Be a good friend. But mainly to yourself.
7.) Don't be self absorbed, but do be selfish sometimes. Others can take care of themselves, but you can only take care of you.
8.) Fucking forgive yourself. No one else is going to do it.
9.) The devil is alive and active in the world. I have scars to prove it.
10.) If something is too good to be true, don't give up on it. Sometimes we get what we want.
11.) Be thankful with actions. Words get lost over time.
12.) Believe in something. Whatever it may be. Faith is one of the most powerful propellants.
13.) I'm not ready to have kids, but when I am, I want to adopt. My genes are hard enough for me to wear day to day, I dont want to hand them down to the next generation.
14.) Change your mind often. Speculation funnels into motivation to be different.
15.) Age matters after a certain point and to a certain point. Example: I will not date you if you're a teen or still act like one. Nor will I date you if your 50 and think you're still 'with it'.
16.) Numbers are confusing.
17.) Be okay with nudity. We all came into this world bare assed and beautiful. Be proud of the skin you were given.
18.) This is as high as I can count.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Hi,
I wrote this for you.
I've known you for quite some time
and I thought I'd finally reach out to tell you.
I remember when you tied your shoes for the first time.
You were alone in the kitchen, missing guidance but had
the limerick your parents left you with
to carry the bunny through the loop.
I was proud of you.
I'm sorry I never told you.
I'm sorry I've never shown you my love in the right way.
Its tough most days.
You're a stubborn prick and you rarely listen.
But I get it. You're lonely a lot and missing
some essentials life forgot to keep around for you.
Sometimes, I can tell its hard to for you to walk around
with a smile. Or take your eyes off the ground
for a while. The weight of loss can do that.
I understand.
Also, its not your fault that you're short.
I was thinking how to say that sort of nicer to you,
but blunt is what you like.
Some of the most powerful people in history
haven't been the tallest trees.
Salvador Dali, Mahatma Ghandi,
Stalin.
And not to compare you to a dictator,
but I have seen the genocide you've done on
your insides.
Diets of chemicals for the hollow cost
of a good time.
You didn't deserve that punishment.
But I get it.
You were young and dumb and trying to live fast
and die young.
But you're still here, kinda blew that goal of letting go
by 21.
I've been watching you searching though.
Looking into alley ways you used to walk passed.
I'm proud of you.
Some of those routes are pretty bumpy
and have horrifying obstacles.
Some might leave more holes in your sanity
or skin.
But your brave and you've lived through worse days.
You'll make it. I have faith.
I know you thought I gave up on you.
That I forgot about you tying your shoes
and baby stepping towards right.
I haven't. I'm right here.
I'm the one who knows your true fears and
can call you on your bullshit.
And I get that
you dont always listen.
And you dont always
get in the right lane when you turn
and sometimes,
you make accidents but
I'm not here to judge you.
I'm here to love you. And if you ever
feel like life has you twisted
going no where in an endless maze
look inside.
You'll find this note jotted on your rib cage.
Sincerely yours,
Forever and always,
Me
I wrote this for you.
I've known you for quite some time
and I thought I'd finally reach out to tell you.
I remember when you tied your shoes for the first time.
You were alone in the kitchen, missing guidance but had
the limerick your parents left you with
to carry the bunny through the loop.
I was proud of you.
I'm sorry I never told you.
I'm sorry I've never shown you my love in the right way.
Its tough most days.
You're a stubborn prick and you rarely listen.
But I get it. You're lonely a lot and missing
some essentials life forgot to keep around for you.
Sometimes, I can tell its hard to for you to walk around
with a smile. Or take your eyes off the ground
for a while. The weight of loss can do that.
I understand.
Also, its not your fault that you're short.
I was thinking how to say that sort of nicer to you,
but blunt is what you like.
Some of the most powerful people in history
haven't been the tallest trees.
Salvador Dali, Mahatma Ghandi,
Stalin.
And not to compare you to a dictator,
but I have seen the genocide you've done on
your insides.
Diets of chemicals for the hollow cost
of a good time.
You didn't deserve that punishment.
But I get it.
You were young and dumb and trying to live fast
and die young.
But you're still here, kinda blew that goal of letting go
by 21.
I've been watching you searching though.
Looking into alley ways you used to walk passed.
I'm proud of you.
Some of those routes are pretty bumpy
and have horrifying obstacles.
Some might leave more holes in your sanity
or skin.
But your brave and you've lived through worse days.
You'll make it. I have faith.
I know you thought I gave up on you.
That I forgot about you tying your shoes
and baby stepping towards right.
I haven't. I'm right here.
I'm the one who knows your true fears and
can call you on your bullshit.
And I get that
you dont always listen.
And you dont always
get in the right lane when you turn
and sometimes,
you make accidents but
I'm not here to judge you.
I'm here to love you. And if you ever
feel like life has you twisted
going no where in an endless maze
look inside.
You'll find this note jotted on your rib cage.
Sincerely yours,
Forever and always,
Me
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
At least try to catch what I'm throwing.
Second guessing is pretty much my second nature. Disregarding Malcolm Gladwell's sociological jargon from 'Blink', I always ask myself once or twice if I'm making the right move. If where I'm going is really where I want to go. I believe that logic is the only way to break that emotion-rationale barrier so instinct is rare for me to act on. Unless you throw a fist or a heart break at me, I'm always using my gears instead.
Being in processing with the military goes against everything I've ever been about. For one, I never believed the United States was doing the right thing over there. Exhausting billions into destruction and reconstruction. Fighting to solve fighting, and not even against the right people mostly. Marginalizing the entire Middle East as terrorists. Shifting racism and prejudice into 5th gear as terms like Hagi and Sand Nigger are now synonymous with Muslim. Unfortunately, I have to transform my morals for the sake of job security. Uncle Sam is the only guy hiring for untouchable jobs in the climate were in. So I had to drag the student out of me and start doing some research. What is really going on in the world? Who are the victims? Who are the terrorists? And what position do I want to play in this game? Center or bench?
I think I watched every documentary... ever. Some that were atypically known to put viewers to sleep, but I had a goal in mind: find a purpose. A reason. I covered everything from the genocide in Darfur to victims of the Mugabe regime. Including several U.S. military documentations of the war. And after all of the soaking and basking I did, I filtered out a few topics I need to touch on and address. Not only did I find what I needed, but also some much needed cultural awareness. So I'll just list off my findings.
1:) I will be going into the military knowing I'm pursuing my own goals, and not a collective US goal. Yes, there is some stuff I know I'll see or have to do that I wont agree with. I will have to look through that racial lens. I will have to see families missing members with only us to blame. Maybe I will be to blame. And it's not going to feel right, and its going to hurt. I am aware. But I'm pretty sure that if I get the chance, I'm going to go A.W.O.L and sneak into North Korea. I hear Kim Jong Il has an amazing movie collection and I want to get my hands on that... and him. Just saying. I have my ulterior motives.
2:) Moving on from Army talk, I need to point out how culturally retarded the U.S is. Our norms and our way is totally the reason the world see's us how they do. It disgusts me that I have to attribute myself to this culture. I have been raised here. No where else. Instilled with the righteous selfishness. At the same time, I can speak on this topic because I have been rebellious all my life. Rebelling against systems of thought. Of perception. Of normalcy. So as much as my super ego consists of this culture, my everyday consists of a mutt mixture. Which makes me happier now that I know just because my actions might not be normal here, other places they are. Let me explain....
First, the manners we're injected with at young ages are parasitic. We were always told/taught to say 'please' and 'thank you'. When we wanted something as children, our parents would ask us to say 'the magic word'. Now, if you break down those words from what we associate them with... what is left? For example: If I am doing something because you asked ME to, or if I'm doing something simply because I'm looking for you to thank ME... am I really doing any of that for you? Who am I really doing those things for? You fill in the blank.
Second, we have some horrid traditions when it comes to death. And if you don't understand what I mean, just dissect the entire process of a persons body after they pass on. What do we do? Well, we call an ambulance. We call 911. We call 'people who are trained to deal with the situation'. So they come, and take the body away from you. Now, because I've watched my mother die, I can account for what happens after all that. Well... you wait. You wait a week for the body and a casket and a wake and the funeral. And then you attend the funeral. And then you cry. And then tomorrow happens. Right? This is the process of a traditional American death. But take a deeper look at all of that....
Once the body is in the ambulance, it is surrounded by people whose job it is to do this. Who see 3, 4, maybe 10 bodies a day. They didn't love the person. They didn't know the person. So then they drop the body off at a morgue, where more people who didn't know the person get to touch and handle the body. After that, the body is drained of all natural insides and replaced with chemicals. Make up is applied. Nails are filed. All by people whose job it is to be there. Once again, more people who didn't know the person. Later, friends and family are told to come pay their respects at a wake where they stare at the manikin version of someone they used to know. This is the first time the body gets to be around more than strangers. Then the capitalistic funeral takes place, and this is when loved ones are supposed to express how much they miss the person and bla bla bla. Then someone who's paid to dig holes, digs a fucking hole and thats where the path ends for the body. This is also where us Americans end the death process. Take your nice legal week of work off and go back to life.
I dont know about you, but I'm damn well sure that when I die, however that may be, I don't want to be fondled and passed around by strangers. I dont want to be stared at naked on tables and drained of what made me live and then clothed by someone who never saw my swag. I want to be taken care of by people that I loved. Who knew how I smiled. Who saw me take my first steps or drove with me on the day I got my license. Not by someone who gets an hourly wage to prepare me and move on to the next body.
Some cultures do this. Most Native American tribes handle the body this way. And they dont have the funeral till 365 days after the persons death. The funeral isn't blacked out and full of tears either, it's stories and celebrating and food and love. Because honestly... who the fuck can get through all the stages of grief over 7 days of paid leave? And people wonder why so many can't move passed losing a parent or a child or a friend. WE DONT GET TIME TO GET OVER. The rushed process of death leaves loved ones without closure. And the sad thing is... the majority of state laws say bodies HAVE to be buried in this disrespectful way.
When I die, I'm going to leave a note on my body that says 'don't touch unless you know me'. I also want to be left in a field to be ate by something that can use me for more than a 3,000 dollar box.
And now I can start my day.
Being in processing with the military goes against everything I've ever been about. For one, I never believed the United States was doing the right thing over there. Exhausting billions into destruction and reconstruction. Fighting to solve fighting, and not even against the right people mostly. Marginalizing the entire Middle East as terrorists. Shifting racism and prejudice into 5th gear as terms like Hagi and Sand Nigger are now synonymous with Muslim. Unfortunately, I have to transform my morals for the sake of job security. Uncle Sam is the only guy hiring for untouchable jobs in the climate were in. So I had to drag the student out of me and start doing some research. What is really going on in the world? Who are the victims? Who are the terrorists? And what position do I want to play in this game? Center or bench?
I think I watched every documentary... ever. Some that were atypically known to put viewers to sleep, but I had a goal in mind: find a purpose. A reason. I covered everything from the genocide in Darfur to victims of the Mugabe regime. Including several U.S. military documentations of the war. And after all of the soaking and basking I did, I filtered out a few topics I need to touch on and address. Not only did I find what I needed, but also some much needed cultural awareness. So I'll just list off my findings.
1:) I will be going into the military knowing I'm pursuing my own goals, and not a collective US goal. Yes, there is some stuff I know I'll see or have to do that I wont agree with. I will have to look through that racial lens. I will have to see families missing members with only us to blame. Maybe I will be to blame. And it's not going to feel right, and its going to hurt. I am aware. But I'm pretty sure that if I get the chance, I'm going to go A.W.O.L and sneak into North Korea. I hear Kim Jong Il has an amazing movie collection and I want to get my hands on that... and him. Just saying. I have my ulterior motives.
2:) Moving on from Army talk, I need to point out how culturally retarded the U.S is. Our norms and our way is totally the reason the world see's us how they do. It disgusts me that I have to attribute myself to this culture. I have been raised here. No where else. Instilled with the righteous selfishness. At the same time, I can speak on this topic because I have been rebellious all my life. Rebelling against systems of thought. Of perception. Of normalcy. So as much as my super ego consists of this culture, my everyday consists of a mutt mixture. Which makes me happier now that I know just because my actions might not be normal here, other places they are. Let me explain....
First, the manners we're injected with at young ages are parasitic. We were always told/taught to say 'please' and 'thank you'. When we wanted something as children, our parents would ask us to say 'the magic word'. Now, if you break down those words from what we associate them with... what is left? For example: If I am doing something because you asked ME to, or if I'm doing something simply because I'm looking for you to thank ME... am I really doing any of that for you? Who am I really doing those things for? You fill in the blank.
Second, we have some horrid traditions when it comes to death. And if you don't understand what I mean, just dissect the entire process of a persons body after they pass on. What do we do? Well, we call an ambulance. We call 911. We call 'people who are trained to deal with the situation'. So they come, and take the body away from you. Now, because I've watched my mother die, I can account for what happens after all that. Well... you wait. You wait a week for the body and a casket and a wake and the funeral. And then you attend the funeral. And then you cry. And then tomorrow happens. Right? This is the process of a traditional American death. But take a deeper look at all of that....
Once the body is in the ambulance, it is surrounded by people whose job it is to do this. Who see 3, 4, maybe 10 bodies a day. They didn't love the person. They didn't know the person. So then they drop the body off at a morgue, where more people who didn't know the person get to touch and handle the body. After that, the body is drained of all natural insides and replaced with chemicals. Make up is applied. Nails are filed. All by people whose job it is to be there. Once again, more people who didn't know the person. Later, friends and family are told to come pay their respects at a wake where they stare at the manikin version of someone they used to know. This is the first time the body gets to be around more than strangers. Then the capitalistic funeral takes place, and this is when loved ones are supposed to express how much they miss the person and bla bla bla. Then someone who's paid to dig holes, digs a fucking hole and thats where the path ends for the body. This is also where us Americans end the death process. Take your nice legal week of work off and go back to life.
I dont know about you, but I'm damn well sure that when I die, however that may be, I don't want to be fondled and passed around by strangers. I dont want to be stared at naked on tables and drained of what made me live and then clothed by someone who never saw my swag. I want to be taken care of by people that I loved. Who knew how I smiled. Who saw me take my first steps or drove with me on the day I got my license. Not by someone who gets an hourly wage to prepare me and move on to the next body.
Some cultures do this. Most Native American tribes handle the body this way. And they dont have the funeral till 365 days after the persons death. The funeral isn't blacked out and full of tears either, it's stories and celebrating and food and love. Because honestly... who the fuck can get through all the stages of grief over 7 days of paid leave? And people wonder why so many can't move passed losing a parent or a child or a friend. WE DONT GET TIME TO GET OVER. The rushed process of death leaves loved ones without closure. And the sad thing is... the majority of state laws say bodies HAVE to be buried in this disrespectful way.
When I die, I'm going to leave a note on my body that says 'don't touch unless you know me'. I also want to be left in a field to be ate by something that can use me for more than a 3,000 dollar box.
And now I can start my day.
Monday, February 7, 2011
You will be my garbage disposal for now.
I remember when I used to believe everything I wrote was sent as a present from above. The omnipotent poet. Walking around with pockets full of words and broken syntax and thinking that those lines were invincible. Indestructible. Invulnerable and meaningful and fucking awesome.
The wisdom of a 17 year old is baseless. Shit, the wisdom of a 23 year old hardly holds ground for me too. I'm moving out of that Walt Whitman superman writer stage. I am fully aware that the majority of the thoughts I compose are rhetoric. Sometimes juvenile. Premature births others. Vomit. I'm transitioning into my worst critic, and it feels right. Like growing out of your shoes or cutting your hair.
However, right now my mind is constipated. Backed all the way up to my ego and I have to dump these thoughts somewhere before I can start over. Shitty analogy, but thats pretty much all I'm getting right now. I've lost the luxury of chemical fuel for this process; more so, I gave up on it. Addiction is the one thing I strongly believe we can utterly give up on without regret. Regardless of the caged mindset and identity faults, it gives light to areas that I haven't seen in a decade. With the ability to only use 20% of our brain, I'm pretty sure I only had access to about 5. Maybe 3. And the same words were on repeat, skipping like a broken record. Whinny. Misplaced. Embarrassing.
There's been two things I've noticed since my break up with drugs. One is that I dream. And not like Martin Luther King or children but simply residual dreams. For as long as I can remember, my dreams haven't made sense. I always felt like once my eyes closed, my mind just picked an idea or image and twisted it into a balloon animal and by morning, I just popped it and said 'whatever'. But over the past few weeks, I can vividly describe sections of dreams like I lived them. And I can draw meaning out of them. Somedays its fucking scary.
I spent the hole last year of my life living in this victimizing, contorted and disturbed realm of a fictional relationship. The reason I didn't simply say 'dream relationship' is because truthfully, the experience was horrifyingly painful. The person treated me like toilet paper. And I never once... NOT once... had a dream about the actual person. I could never fathom how she would look face to face or how we would interact in person and so my mind would always just draw in some other comfortable image in her place. Sometimes, I'd identify the image as 'said person'. But it wasn't her. At all.
I've had 2 dreams in the past week where 'said person' actually showed up and made a cameo. Both times were brief. But both made complete sense. The first dream, I was walking around on crutches. I believe my legs worked just fine but I was still hobbling around gimped. Somehow, I was hanging out with Holly Madison (which would be the last thing I ever would want to do) and as I was limping around Las Vegas, we ran into a group of her Peep Show girls. There was maybe 5, and all of them were faceless except for one. It was 'said person'. I remember leaning over and introducing myself awkwardly. She decided to not make eye contact at all with my pathetic display and proceeded to free style terribly. I laughed. The next thing I remember was falling. Straight onto my back. The crutches gave out and as I'm laying seeing nothing but her to look up to, I asked 'said person' if she could help me up. She wouldn't. She continued to rap hilariously and look everywhere but down at me. If I still pissed the bed, I think that dream would have been justifiably urine worthy. Total embarrassment.
If that doesn't make sense to you, go fuck yourself. That dream summarizes my entire 2010. And for the first time, I actually felt that feeling of bewilderment and abandonment. I woke up in tears and hoped that fucking balloon would pop but it didn't. The universe made that one stick around.
The second thing I've noticed since the split is a need for change. In almost every way, but mainly in my narrative voice. It's started to annoy me. Same song. Same dance. Broken record. Withdrawals wasn't just from the drugs, it was also from my writing. And after I pound out a few of these arbitrary, less then meaningful blogs... I'm going to start over fresh. Or at least see what happens when I attempt to. New is always good. I'm looking every direction but behind me. Some of what I'm seeing is scary, but mostly... its fucking beautiful.
The wisdom of a 17 year old is baseless. Shit, the wisdom of a 23 year old hardly holds ground for me too. I'm moving out of that Walt Whitman superman writer stage. I am fully aware that the majority of the thoughts I compose are rhetoric. Sometimes juvenile. Premature births others. Vomit. I'm transitioning into my worst critic, and it feels right. Like growing out of your shoes or cutting your hair.
However, right now my mind is constipated. Backed all the way up to my ego and I have to dump these thoughts somewhere before I can start over. Shitty analogy, but thats pretty much all I'm getting right now. I've lost the luxury of chemical fuel for this process; more so, I gave up on it. Addiction is the one thing I strongly believe we can utterly give up on without regret. Regardless of the caged mindset and identity faults, it gives light to areas that I haven't seen in a decade. With the ability to only use 20% of our brain, I'm pretty sure I only had access to about 5. Maybe 3. And the same words were on repeat, skipping like a broken record. Whinny. Misplaced. Embarrassing.
There's been two things I've noticed since my break up with drugs. One is that I dream. And not like Martin Luther King or children but simply residual dreams. For as long as I can remember, my dreams haven't made sense. I always felt like once my eyes closed, my mind just picked an idea or image and twisted it into a balloon animal and by morning, I just popped it and said 'whatever'. But over the past few weeks, I can vividly describe sections of dreams like I lived them. And I can draw meaning out of them. Somedays its fucking scary.
I spent the hole last year of my life living in this victimizing, contorted and disturbed realm of a fictional relationship. The reason I didn't simply say 'dream relationship' is because truthfully, the experience was horrifyingly painful. The person treated me like toilet paper. And I never once... NOT once... had a dream about the actual person. I could never fathom how she would look face to face or how we would interact in person and so my mind would always just draw in some other comfortable image in her place. Sometimes, I'd identify the image as 'said person'. But it wasn't her. At all.
I've had 2 dreams in the past week where 'said person' actually showed up and made a cameo. Both times were brief. But both made complete sense. The first dream, I was walking around on crutches. I believe my legs worked just fine but I was still hobbling around gimped. Somehow, I was hanging out with Holly Madison (which would be the last thing I ever would want to do) and as I was limping around Las Vegas, we ran into a group of her Peep Show girls. There was maybe 5, and all of them were faceless except for one. It was 'said person'. I remember leaning over and introducing myself awkwardly. She decided to not make eye contact at all with my pathetic display and proceeded to free style terribly. I laughed. The next thing I remember was falling. Straight onto my back. The crutches gave out and as I'm laying seeing nothing but her to look up to, I asked 'said person' if she could help me up. She wouldn't. She continued to rap hilariously and look everywhere but down at me. If I still pissed the bed, I think that dream would have been justifiably urine worthy. Total embarrassment.
If that doesn't make sense to you, go fuck yourself. That dream summarizes my entire 2010. And for the first time, I actually felt that feeling of bewilderment and abandonment. I woke up in tears and hoped that fucking balloon would pop but it didn't. The universe made that one stick around.
The second thing I've noticed since the split is a need for change. In almost every way, but mainly in my narrative voice. It's started to annoy me. Same song. Same dance. Broken record. Withdrawals wasn't just from the drugs, it was also from my writing. And after I pound out a few of these arbitrary, less then meaningful blogs... I'm going to start over fresh. Or at least see what happens when I attempt to. New is always good. I'm looking every direction but behind me. Some of what I'm seeing is scary, but mostly... its fucking beautiful.
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