there’s a pill for that

so, about psychology…. i mean, seriously? what a scam. people eat that shit up. and so the profits are made. that is what psychology is all about. 

the well-funded psychological research is focused on the biological factors that influence behavior, not the environmental factors. How fucking arrogant…

They are willing to throw down tons of money to search for a way to blame evolution for all of the psychological disorders that plague mankind today because the environmental factors (which are obviously causing these psychological disorders) would eliminate the chance to make a profit from the treatments. So they spend money to make money. They research and develop a new treatment (i.e. a pill) to mask the symptoms of the psychological disorder and thus, profits are made. If they were to research the environmental factors influencing behavior, a pill would not be an effective treatment, but most importantly, a pill would not be a profitable treatment.

so forget about our flaws. society, don’t you worry one bit. we can keep fucking up. we can keep fucking ourselves up, and the future generations can be fucked up as well. there is money to be made here. keep the prescriptions going, we do not need to solve the problem. people will pay us to make them feel like we solved the problem, but time will show you that the future generations will be just as fucked up as all of you, if not more.

In my psychology class, which I was unfortunately required to take, the teacher (Jason Dias, PsyD) admitted this to me, which I thought must have disappointed many of the students in that class, because most of the students had expressed their desire to major in psychology for the purpose of helping people (my major is business). Here is how our exchange went word-for-word:

Teacher: “Hi, Jessica. You said, “Another question to ask about the influence nature and nurture have on our behavior is how do nature and nurture influence our behavior.” Yes, I’d say the argument has evolved from “whether” to “how,” just as you suggest here. But, in secret, disguised as other issues, in fact the debate does rage on. Biological explanations are winning. Depth approaches to psychology are losing. Applied research means research with an aim to accomplishing some task or fixing some problem. A compression rate of 100 beats per minute is ideal for CPR, for example. At the level of basic research, there is essentially nobody contending that development is all nature or all nurture. But at the level of applied research, we are unduly interested in the biology of behavior at the expense of the nurturing things we can do to help people.”

Me: “You said, “At the level of basic research, there is essentially nobody contending that development is all nature or all nurture. But at the level of applied research, we are unduly interested in the biology of behavior at the expense of the nurturing things we can do to help people.” Does that mean that, at the level of applied research, the assumption is that biological factors are creating the problems that research aims to fix?”

Teacher: “Hi, Jessica. You said, “Does that mean that, at the level of applied research, the assumption is that biological factors are creating the problems that research aims to fix?” Yes, exactly. The debate is secret because it is in the assumptions. We aren’t talking any more about whether biological or environmental factors create depression. We assume they are. Research is aimed at finding the best medical intervention (i.e., pill) rather than the best treatment. Small groups protest these assumptions but in general are not as ruthless or as well funded as those in the position to carry out the research. Psychotherapists are not a well-funded, politically empowered group, for example. Therapy has a lot going for it as an intervention but is no longer really part of the conversation any more.”

Me: “The best medical intervention (i.e., pill) does not always solve the problem. For example, if a friend takes pills for depression, without the pills he would still be depressed. It just seems rather arrogant to assume that biological factors are to blame when it could very well be an error on our part. Is it possible that the way we go about things causes the problems? How is the best medical intervention a solution to the problem if generations of people continue to have the problem? If the way we function as a society is causing the problems, is it just seen as too large of a problem to bother with more research?”

Teacher: “Hi, Jessica. You said, “If the way we function as a society is causing the problems, is it just seen as too large of a problem to bother with more research?” I can answer that in a single word: profits. There are simply no profits to be made in addressing social issues.”

Isn’t it awesome how much progress we are making?! Oh, that’s right…we aren’t making any…

Go Humans!

quit lying to your kids

fuckin’ parenting… this gig scares the shit out of me. my daughter has the potential to smash my heart under her heel for the rest of my life. i usually try to keep people out of that powerful position. i do not want to place my heart at their mercy.

am i a bad parent for not wanting to be a parent? and then when I became a parent, it was not necessarily because I desired to raise a child of my own. does that make me a bad parent? i love her. but my reason for becoming a parent seems to differ from other parents. does that mean i am a bad parent?

i just want to laugh sometimes when i speak to another parent. We will both complain about the fits our kids throw, then there is a pause in the conversation, and before the silence becomes awkward the other parent will say “…but kids are great! i love ‘em.” ….yeah! totally, for sure…

i do not love kids. i love my kid. not your kid though. kids are awkward to interact with. they just stare at you, or try to speak in a language you do not understand, or try to get you excited about some toy car they just got at the store, and then you have to act excited about their toy car before they wake up and realize their toy car is a fucking toy that is not exciting at all…

you have to fake a lot with kids and i am not sure why, it only prolongs the inevitable. my daughter will never be told that Santa Claus brought her gifts. it will only bring her disappointment later. and i will be seen as a liar. no, Santa Claus is not real, these presents are from me. what is so hard about that? kids should be excited about Christmas regardless of who their presents are from.

the tooth fairy is bullshit as well. you lost a tooth, stuck it under your pillow, and while you were sleeping, i crept inside your room, took your tooth, and replaced it with some money or some other useful item. my daughter will have a happy childhood without these fucking fairy tales because children have no responsibilities. if i did not have to do a damn thing but play all day, i would be happy too, without fairy tales.

i am all about honest parenting. she will not understand some things for a while, but i do not need to confuse her with unnecessary lies.

reality, its where we all live, unfortunately.

the problematic masochist

so here we go again. the battle between logic and emotion. do i trust my heart? or do i trust my mind? my heart is a muscle that dreams of pain. and my mind is never made up. Does that make me a problematic masochist?

truth is hard to find when you constantly play the devil’s advocate.

is it best to be safe and bored, or would i prefer a life of chaos?

why do people tell each other to “take risks” and then call the risk-taker stupid when they lose what they risked? so should i try, with the risk of failing? or accept defeat and never try? i may or may not succeed. do i even give a fuck?

fuckin life… deal with it! or bail…

my history consists of more chaos than boredom. i was/am reckless and probably not as safe as some prefer to be. but safe enough to take this next breath…and the one after it…and this one….

it is really all there is to it. breathing. you breathe, you keep breathing. you don’t breathe, you die. but i want to live while i do all this breathing… and the safe route is the fucking boring route. sorry squares, but your life looks miserable from my perspective (my perspective: i cling to a small piece of driftwood in the middle of the pacific ocean…. could be worse, right?)

safety is never a guarantee. and i need a little chaos to feel alive. without it, i may stop myself from breathing. so perhaps the chaotic route is my safe route. but not the boring route.

what the fuck, i am a problematic masochist.

society says: no animals allowed

it is always hilarious to watch humans behave like animals in society. we can’t help it sometimes.

so you mr. and mrs., it really should not be that shocking when your spouse cheats on you. if we were living like animals, we would most likely be fucking more than one person for the rest of our lives.

and single men, if we lived like animals, you would have to step up your game and be a little more creative with your mating dance.  if we were living like animals, you would not be able to get a girl drunk enough to fuck you, you wouldn’t be able to flash money at her, or lie to her when you borrow your mom’s fancy car and tell her its yours. you wouldn’t be able to pay for dinner, you would have to hunt a live animal to feed her. and it would be a good idea to sweep your poo out of your cave before you mate with her on top of your animal skin/fur “blankets”.

the mating dance has been adapted to the standards set by society.

humans continue to puff up their chests like animals do. men like to compare their “coolness.” “anything he can do I can do better,” is typically how it goes. if all else fails, men will still literally puff up their chests and get in each others face, talking shit, until they fully release the inner animal and start a physical fight. but then society breaks up the fight and places the animals in cages downtown. once the animals start acting human again, they might be allowed to enter society again.

sometimes people go full animal and there is no going back. they will be in a cage forever. a much smaller cage than the rest of us are in.

no creature on this earth roams free anymore. society has caged us all. even the “wild” animals are forced to remain in what we call “the wild.” this whole earth was wild before the ego was born and humans started fucking shit up. every creature on this earth suffers at our hands, humans included.

what have we done?

happiness, meaning, and satisfaction

a friend and i were recently discussing the difference between happiness and meaning. A life of meaning is not necessarily a happy life. And what role does satisfaction, or lack there of, play in all of this?

If there is a need for meaning in every aspect of life, how can satisfaction ever be achieved? i know so little and i desire to know so much more. there are so many mysteries and they will remain mysterious for the duration of my existence, at least. never satisfying my curiosity.

why should i settle for happiness? satisfying our need for food, water, shelter, affection, etc., it makes some people happy. it makes them content with life. each trip around the sun in their lifetime is spent working, providing, fucking. those needs are met, it makes them happy, they are satisfied, and no further progress is made. then death. the end!  how is that a happy life? why? what was their purpose? is there even a purpose for any of us?

life is crazy and if i am going crazy, i would like an explanation. i would like to justify these chaotic thoughts, the thoughts i have yet to bleed by way of ink, lead, or keyboard. they move so fast and i cannot grasp each thought long enough to finish the slaughter.

this cannot be good for my blood pressure. especially when i cry. what a fucking mess i am when i cry. when i cry, it never lasts long because each sob gives me a really bad headache, so the pain in my head motivates me to stop crying. on top of that, snot just comes pouring out of my nose like I have never seen happen to anyone before. it pours and i cant breathe through my nose. oh and my eyes get swollen as fuck, the next day it looks like i got punched in the face.

all of this happens within the first couple minutes of crying. i do not let it go further because it hurts, i can’t breathe, and anyone could look at my eyes and see i was crying. perhaps i am allergic to crying…

crying brings no satisfaction. it just makes my face look weird and gives me a headache. it makes me worse off than i was.

i don’t even know what i am talking about anymore. or why. another mystery. ugh.

church, donations, & NOTW

“Call me if you want to go to church one Sunday night and I will pick you up. Raelynn will get to play with other kids and we always go out to eat after!”

Yeah…sure….I will definitely do that…Wait, did you just offer food and a play-date as a good reason for me to go to church? Seriously? That was interesting coming from the youth pastor that I had when I was still living at my parent’s house and attending youth group.

Once upon a time, I was actually a worship leader. I played guitar and I had to sing of course. When I think back to it, I cannot help but laugh. I was pretty sheltered until I turned 16, so the majority of my life was spent believing that what I was raised in was the only truth. When I was introduced to the “world outside”, I was still leading worship. I started showing up to worship practice drunk, or I would get stoned on the roof while the sermon was delivered. But I quickly checked myself and told the pastor I was not going to lead worship anymore because I did not want to be a hypocrite like most of the people in that church.

I have no desire to go to church. I call my former youth pastor when I need help moving a piece of furniture because he has a truck and he works for the church, so helping me move is almost a form of ministry. He buys my daughter and I lunch afterwards, which gives us time to have a healthy religious debate (by “healthy”, i mean no emotions are involved).

He is among the few Christians I know that I would not call a hypocrite. My parents always worked for the church while I was growing up, which allowed me to see just how hypocritical the majority of Christians can be. We are all hypocrites at times, regardless of our beliefs, or lack there of. However, considering the variety of ways the Holy Bible can be interpreted and the fact that it is Christianity’s sacred text, a stereotypical Christian is the most obvious of hypocrites. But we can talk about stereotypes another day…

Research studies suggest that half of the American population is affiliated with Christianity. Research studies also suggest that half of the American population donate their money or time to Civil Society Organizations (CSOs), and that the majority of donations are made to places of worship and other religiously-affiliated organizations. Half of the charity groups are not religiously-affiliated (Civil Rights, Human Rights, Family Planning, Elderly Care, Voting Rights, Poverty Relief, Children’s care (non-medical), Homeless Shelters, and Environmental groups) and the percentage of donations made to these types of CSOs is pitiful in comparison. You can check out the research study here: http://www.academia.edu/1961784/What_Matters_to_Americans_Social_Economic_and_Political_Values

So religious affiliation does have its perks. I mean, I was offered food and a play date just to attend one night of church, if I didn’t know any better, that may have sounded like a good deal!

The main concern I have with most Christians is their church. It may be unintentional, but Christian churches (non-denominational) seem to do more harm to society than good. Most of their “ministry events” are a waste of time and money; they are spent preaching to the choir, or approaching strangers with a tract, or approaching strangers to pray with them, or at least saying “God bless you/God loves you” much louder and more pronounced than any of the other words coming out of their mouths. Horrible tactics and utterly useless. The Holy Bible does not encourage these ministries. The churches do, and the people involved sure do feel good about what they are doing, and other people in the church are happy to donate their money to such a “good cause,” but is that the only purpose? To keep the congregation happy? To make them feel like they are doing good? What good is the church doing to society as a whole? If Christians believe Jesus Christ was God in human flesh, surely Christians must recognize that God must have done this to blend in with the rest of the humans, including the humans that have no faith. The majority of churches need to quit dividing Christians from other humans, encourage humans to help humans, if they are in the position to do so. Christians helping Christians does good to the Christians in society and leaves society in the same position, if not worse off through the division.

Stereotypical Christians are the most obvious of hypocrites because the majority of Christians divide themselves from the rest of society. They are “Not of This World (NOTW).” Sorry to put us all on the same level, but for the moment at least, you are of this world. Just like the rest of us.

in the drum of the washing machine

Its so comforting to know I’ll never have to think again…at least, that is what I tell myself whenever I start thinking too much about death. It brings me peace.

I feel stuck. Always thinking. Never doing enough. Not progressing fast enough. Chained to the floor. I am just in this box that I pay for every month, thinking.

Stuck in a cycle. Feels like the wash cycle and my fucking head is trapped in the drum of the machine. Filled up, agitated, drained, filled again, agitated, drained, and spun around. When the cycle is over, they’ll take my head out and toss it in a furnace until I am a pile of dry ashes.

I think my daughter hates me. But I don’t blame her. This parenting thing is a two-person job. I do not get to have fun with her as much as she or I would like. I always have to tell her no, or to wait, or that she needs to go to bed, or that we cannot do this or that right now. She must think that I am so lame. She does not understand why.

I wonder how cool she would think I was if I had actually been prepared to be a parent. I wonder if I am lame because I was not prepared and decided to keep her anyway. Would she have been better off? Did I ruin her life when I did not give her up?

There is just no way of knowing how much happier she may or may not have been if I had given her up. I mean, she is only two, so she would most likely have the same terrible attitude no matter who her parents were. I just wish she were old enough to fucking understand why I do the things that I do, or why we don’t do everything she wants to do, or why I can’t do all the things I want to do with her or for her. Yet.

But instead of understanding, she screams, and cries, and hits me, and throws things, and falls to the floor, and covers her face with her hands, and sobs into her hands. And I just stare at her, with my eyebrows raised. And then she moves her hands away from her face, looks up at me,

and laughs.

soon you will fade

soon you will fade,
be it tomorrow or today,
when you’re out of the womb,
expect to move to a grave.
live slow or make haste,
your life will not remain.
all your love and your hate,
will be buried away.
loud and awake,
in a cradle you lay,
while a silent coffin awaits,
for you will soon fade.

when she is old enough to read this

i am well-aware of the fact that my daughter will grow up one day and have the ability to read everything I have posted on the web. i plan to be honest with her throughout her life, but if i prove to be a coward, at least she will have access to my honesty here while i still have the courage to express it.

when i say my daughter is my life, i mean it in the sense that if she were not in my life, i would have bailed already. the truth is, my life was meaningless until she came home from the hospital with me. my life now has one meaning: make it up to her.

make what up to her? existence.

you see, i never wanted kids. ever. people would ask me if i ever wanted kids and i would reply with a quick, “fuuuuck no! i hate kids.” i remember why i hate kids. i remember why i never wanted any. my reasoning went something like this: if i was unable to find meaning in my own existence, why would i want to bring another life into this meaningless existence? why would i want to bring another life in existence to suffer and face a meaningless existence?

i did not find out i was pregnant until i was six months pregnant. at that point, i was left with the option of adoption or parenting. i chose adoption first. i had no intentions of caring for a child until her second day of life, when they left me alone with her overnight in the hospital. this was exactly what I instructed the nurses NOT to do, because i knew i would fall in love with her.

so i did. i love my daughter. if i could go back, i would fall in love with her again. i do not regret my decision to keep her. i knew it was the right thing to do. i brought her into existence and i owe it to her to do my best to make her existence something she will not regret.

i never want her to experience the point of view i had on life before she was born. my life was pointless. existence was a curse. i often thought: if my life has no purpose, why should i stick around to endure more of life’s pain? suicide was always on my mind; i would imagine it happening in my head, hoping i would grow the balls to actually go through with it. i wrote so many letters saying goodbye, sorry, and explaining why to the people that might have cared. i wrote two while i was 8 months pregnant. i even apologized to my unborn child and stated my reason for ending both of our existence.

maybe i am a bad person because of this. maybe i am not just because i did not follow through with any of this. maybe existence is just a fucking joke. maybe i just can’t find a way to cope. all i know is that if my daughter were to die while i am still alive, i know i will die shortly after by my own hand. i owe her a happy existence. she is the only happiness i find in my existence. the truth is, she is my life-line.

those friends you fuck

it is easy to use other people for sex. especially when they want to use you for sex as well…

wam, bam, thank you…sir.

it is best to establish a friendship that consists of a strict “fucking-only” policy with people that are not already good friends of yours. this keeps it simple and easy to walk away from if things get weird or feelings develop on one side.

damn those feelings…. always fucking shit up, huh? why? you talk too much! you are supposed to be fucking! if you do not want to care for them or do not want them to care for you, shut the fuck up! Do not get to know how similar you two are or aren’t. Do not have deep conversations after you cum all over her face (you are pulling out, right?). Do not tell each other your plans for the night or any future date. Use and be used. Keep it real, keep it simple.

Sex is sex and if all you two (or three!) want is sex, then leave it at that. and quit assuming all women want you to stay and cuddle. do not be so confused when I get dressed to leave before you do. I know what staying any later can lead to. and I would rather just get laid.

this society

The society in which we live leaves me discontent with my life.

The culture in this country is engulfed by sales. Selling things we don’t need. Businesses have to be misleading to survive. Honesty is not the key, but disclaimers will keep you free to lie, so they will buy all the things they want. Never satisfying our needs.

Mass media has so much control over the way we all think. Fostering ignorance through their glamorous depictions of stereotypes and prejudice. The news is a tool and it is always biased. Somehow people trust the station on TV and fail to question the rest of the story.

Discrimination is everywhere, no one avoids it. Take the time to speak your mind, if you can think for yourself enough to say it.

I do not believe in god, but I understand the need for religion. No one knows how to cope with the fear of nonexistence. I was raised in a christian home and I understand my parents hope that death is not the end. But when it all stopped making sense, they pushed me away and out of their house, to face the fear by myself.

Now I have a daughter of my own and I will not feed her any lies. I will let her decide for herself if there is a heaven or a hell.

Fear is a means to control. Everybody tries to control everybody else, but take control of yourself. The products on your shelf will not be damned to another realm, nor the money in your bank, all of it will remain where you left it on that day you meet your fate, but just for a moment…. then the vultures come take it all away. And once they are gone, the earth will forget your name.

My daughter is my life and she is going to think for herself, but it is a struggle to have to raise her in a society that works a different way. How do we live a noble life in a society that thrives off manipulating people?

a doormat

this is my doormat. i went into wal-mart looking for a cool one, but they all had the word “welcome” on them, or had some lame design that was about as lame as a tribal tattoo. so i bought a plain mat and made this.

nobody listens though… people still knock on my door. but that is ok, if you can’t read, I can tell you to leave myself.

I’m not really that anti-social. i think. i don’t get awkward around strangers, even in really awkward situations. i guess i just don’t carry my pride on me when I go out. i have no shame. meh. fuck it. you don’t need that.

cowardly christian

preachers use such smooth lines to gather up the church’s tithe. take each 10 percent and use it to augment the walls of the ghetto, for there can be no saints amongst the sinners. “we are up and they are just going to bring you down.” you have faith, but i have a confession. i believe that death is a conclusion, and we all seek a means to cope, until we all face that fear alone,
living in fear we can fear as one. but the pulpit cries and blinds your eyes. god needs to separate you from me, the holy from the unclean. “if you wander outside, you dare not contravene your christianity.” squeezing facts for religion from pages that read like fiction. but only in death will i find proof, the absolute truth. and if it is all a waste, my soul disgraced, will the fool be you or will the fool be me? could you give us a reason why you are afraid? does a coward even need one? why aren’t you afraid? your fear is a gavel, each judgement based on your faith, but at the end of days, be you a priest or the devil, fears grip will hold us equal, for we all die, one and the same.

Ventilation

This may sound harsh, but I am not worried about hurting anyone’s feelings…. and so, the vent:

How do people get so fucking stupid? I really do not like to call myself smart, because that just means that the majority of people are fucking stupid. I have a hard time accepting that.

I went to a bar the other night for the same one reason I ever go to a bar: a guy friend invited me, I like dark beer, I like to people watch, and I would not have to pay to do them both at the same time.

While smoking cigarettes on the patio, a man who was obviously drunk was observing people too, but the alcohol impaired his judgement I am sure. Somehow he ends up talking to me about his ex and how she used to go to this bar, and that he loves this bar, but he doesn’t want to invade her space, or make her uncomfortable if she saw him talking to a female, blah blah blah. Obviously, he was hoping to run into her there, but no man would admit that to a stranger, especially a female stranger, so I went along with it and told him she has no right to be uncomfortable with how he lives his life, they are not together anymore. And just to be an asshole because he was not admitting that his desire was not for the bar, it was for his ex, I reminded him that she is talking to other men because she has moved on, just like him. [heehee, I would have laughed aloud, but he wouldn't understand why] I grin, he thanks me for the “pep talk” and goes inside to “handle the situation.” Then I laugh.

Later, the drunk guy and another guy come outside and sit next to my friend and I. I am not sure what we were talking about, but it somehow got the drunk guy on the topic of gun control. The drunk guy was at least smart enough to allow his friend to speak their opinion on gun control laws, but I am sure it was just his friend’s opinion and he just agrees.

The last thing I wanted to do at a bar was get into a debate about gun control with a drunk guy and his friend, who also had no intentions of going to the bar just to wind up in a debate. So his friend and I have a healthy debate and that was fine, but the drunk guy was just saying stupid shit. So eventually, his friend just goes inside, and there is nothing left to do but fuck with this guy, so that I can at least laugh and get some kind of enjoyment out of the night.

I made him completely contradict himself and he did not even notice, but after my friend and I were laughing for a bit, we told the confused drunk man that we were laughing because I was fucking with him.

So he leaves a little later, and another guy comes out, asks me some generic question that gets asked of every stranger, and I replied in a way that is normal to me, but apparently, my reply made him say, “oh, you are one of those smart girls, huh?”

If I am smarter than the average girl, then that is just sad. What is even sadder, is that men get so awkward around smart girls. Especially smart girls that are not afraid to hurt anyone’s feelings. Feelings do not get hurt if you leave your ego at the fucking door. It is like men do not know how to act when they encounter a smart girl. They act all awkward and weird. It is so sad.

I spend more time alone now because most of the people I meet are fucking stupid. Stupid people are hard to have a conversation with, because eventually the conversation will make them feel stupid and then their stupid ego is damaged, and they hate me. I do not even have to say anything offensive, I just make my points and stupid people often do not know how to prove their points.

So, perhaps I am picky and that is why I do not have a large number of true friends, because a large number of people I will encounter in life are fucking stupid, and I do not have stupid friends. I would rather not have to talk like I am stupid to make them comfortable with being my friend.

And dating, well I guess I have to figure out where the smart people go when they are not home. I just hate to accept that the majority of people are stupid. I think mass media should be thanked for playing a major role in that…

guess I will remain fullofhate. stupid people are easy to hate.

six years

lets take a moment to look at the facts,
i will expose the flaws, and every law true beauty eludes.
embrace this omission of all that is fine.
a heart only breaks for it to flake away all of the letters, full of all the lies,
you always wrote on sheets of transparent paper…

mindless

full-time thoughts. a black hole of a mind. the center of my perfect universe. oh, be cautious, traveling savior. beware the clutches of blown light. the blood on breath of night. if we can imagine, is there meaning? what does death even distinguish? we are never this nor that, so what will i have known? my face melts the mirror and makes my skin thick with ash. bones growing through the floor. but you are soon to be buried in a city where none are worth listening to. they motion for us to leave, as human becomes sinner. but death only reigns on these planets, orbiting a sphere of light that will swallow them hole. what a humiliating dance…only this fool would dare say.

no clue

planets hold the souls that were bore through fabrications of the mind,
that hospital was built to treat their inability to cope with time.

my heart is a dozen cold moons, full of hate, the red runs pretty,
like the fall of spring rain is wine.
you hate when the light leaves to the city.

who bathed the universe in night?
who painted this mystery black?
men use the light to measure time, because life feels safe when it can be tracked.

empty words

what a waste of time and breath.

actions speak volumes, but I have such a love for words that I find it difficult to listen. What is the use in talking, in writing, in singing, or in signing if our actions do not translate into the same words?

Liar. It is better to be mute than to speak and not follow through. Words will lose their meaning. From those lips, they are worthless.

Why are people so afraid of hurting feelings? It is worse to be misleading. Wasting time, abusing trust, insulting intelligence, and lying… Spare us all. Do not assume you are significant enough to hurt the other person’s feelings. Even if you are, more damage is done when you speak no truth.

Give meaning to the beat beneath the blood.

are you proud?

do you think you are something great? are you proud of what you have done? you feel good about what you have become?

you boast of your feat, like it makes you a god. it has all been done long before you were conceived. another man, much like you, plagued with trivial pursuits.

you acknowledge that you’re only human when confronted with your sin. but if someone praised you, and said you’re a hero, how human would you claim to be? Heroes are nothing but flesh and bone.  heroes die and sinners die, and we all return to dust.

will you gods among men help me comprehend how to take pride in my humanity? show me how to distinguish one human from the next. show me the lines that have built up your pride to a height that leaves me under your reign.

we cursed the earth and all who live in it. destroying ourselves by raping this planet. aren’t you proud of what you have done? look at how far we’ve come….

the universe is not impressed.

endings.

humans are slaves to measurable time. we can only fathom that which begins and ends. things are created and destroyed. start to finish. first to last. this post has began and it will eventually end. everything has a beginning. and everything ends.

sometimes the end will turn the time it had began into something so regrettable…

it is hard to live a life with no regrets. sometimes an end will make you hurt. sometimes that hurt is more intense than the shine from a smile in your memory, the dense fog of your sadness will keep it from shining through.

did you really think it would last? how could a human ever expect such a thing? nothing will last. things that begin, end. we know of nothing that is everlasting. we humans are not everlasting, so how could a human brain think anything will last?

We have no choice in the matter. In measurable time, we are trapped. from birth to death. cradle to casket.

We insignificant fools

“We’re just picky,” he said.

Picky about who we have sex with. Picky about what we eat. Picky about what we want to see and the kind of people we want to see around us. Picky about the beer we drink and the cigarettes we smoke. Picky about who can earn our trust (no one).

We sat as outcasts on the back patio of the bar that night. The only place in the bar where you could speak, rather than shout. There is a bartender on the patio too. He looks as miserable as we do.

He must be an intellectual. He must think about things that most others do not. I find it difficult to comprehend how a human mind can be capable of much less thought, without the use of drugs. But we can see it everyday.

Why do so many people seem to lack the ability to think for themselves? Why don’t people ask questions? How can you believe a word you hear, when people rarely say what they actually mean? There are all these lines people expect each other to read between, but why can’t I just read your line and know what you mean?

Are the masses that naive? Or am I the foolish one? I have no problem telling you anything you want to hear. I am human and I see you for the human you are. Why do people have such pride? We insignificant fools. Existing without a purpose. We know nothing. We live like we are everything. I want the satisfaction of knowing why and how. I am picky. I don’t care about the what, the when, the who, or the where. Give me the why and the how.

We are never satisfied. In a world full of hate. Malevolence deep and profound. Living in a society that believes it is significant. But, to what end do we proceed so boldly???

Nothing Stays Buried Forever

A few years ago, on a crowded city bus, a woman standing behind me reads the tattoo on my back, turns to her friend, and says, “She must like dinosaurs.”

(….if only they could find fossils of the Vaginasaurus Rex.)

Nothing stays buried forever= don’t fucking lie / be REAL.

When I was addicted to heroin, I lied all the fucking time. I lied to everyone and anyone. I lied to the people closest to me. I lied to strangers. I lied to businesses. I lied and I stole. All in the name of “getting well.”

I knew I would eventually be found out. No one knew I was using except my dealer and one friend, who lived in another town. I was dating an awesome guy, with an awesome family, and they did not know either; which I thought was kinda funny, because he had just gotten into the police academy…

Well, he found out. As did everyone else. Karma is always an instant bitch to me. I immediately got everything I had coming to me, and then some.

I have no desire to lie anymore. Everything comes out eventually anyway. Nothing stays buried forever.

Why are people so afraid of showing their scars, their wounds, their flaws?
We are all the fucking same, so who gives a fuck?!

We all fuck up. We all do shit we aren’t proud of. Don’t lie about it, it only makes people think even less of you.

I wonder how many real, honest, not afraid to bare it all people even exist today. Is anyone real? Am I being real?

I’d rather be a robot… no emotions….”does not compute” (in a robot voice, of course).

But I wear my heart on my forehead, and only because I don’t want you to notice that I actually have a five-head…

Permanent hate and ever-changing love

Growing up in a house that was half home/half recording studio, my love for music was inevitable. It was, and still is, a constant in my life. I love to listen to, create, and play music.  My dad converted our garage and den (formerly called “The Big Room”) into a recording studio. Bands would come in and record, and he was usually their engineer. We were definitely the coolest house on the block.

Although I do love music, the main reason I wear headphones while I am out walking by myself is to keep myself from noticing, or rather, remembering how this city is saturated in everything I hate. From the people, to their pets, to the demolished trash bin that the City REFUSES to dump, and so it sits in the alley, growing even more hate.

Hate is usually permanent. Once we develop a hate for something, we will probably always hate it, even if we just secretly hate it. Love, on the other hand, if people are actually capable of it, changes constantly, at least the majority of it does. Perhaps that is why I doubt love. Parents, most of them anyway, understand unconditional love. The love I have for my daughter, Raelynn, is unconditional. This I can say for sure. And I’m not sure of anything…

Most of my hate may stem from living in this town. The same fucking town I was born in. The same fucking town that I fucked up in. The same fucking town. People are everywhere, and we are all the same. So I’ll probably just develop more hate if I moved to another town, because weather conditions only get worse from here.

So why all the hate? Life is a gift, isn’t it? Is it?

I hate man’s ego. I hate what it has done to this planet. I hate hipsters because they pay $200 for new clothes, when they could have just borrowed their grandparent’s clothes for free. I also hate that they ride fixed gear bicycles. WHAT IS THE POINT? Why would I want to undo progress? Why would I prefer not to have brakes?! I hate it when parents put their child on a leash. Yes, it is hard to do a lot of things without both hands, but it is possible. Learn. I will kill myself if I ever say, “oh shit! can you grab Raelynn’s leash please?!”

For the most part, love has conditions. Conditions that are not in print and are sure to change in time. Perhaps that is why hate is so prevalent. Love has been passed around, fucked in the ass, kissed on the lips, and slapped in the face like a slutty porn star. Love is fickle.

I think, therefore I write…

The highlight of my day was seeing Excedrin back on the shelves. Now, that does not mean the rest of my day was exceptionally awful, it just means that life must be pretty bland if the return of an over-the-counter migraine medicine becomes the most memorable part of the day. (And I know, the return of our savior, Excedrin, is old news for most people.)
Technically, my life isn’t really bland. I have a daughter who is about to turn two (…fuck!), I am a full-time student (online courses are awesome!), and I have no vehicle. No vehicle= lots of walking/public transportation. I prefer walking. I will put my daughter in the stroller and walk to the grocery store, with a backpack, and bring home as many groceries as I can fit in the backpack, as well as in the stroller’s…cargo hold(?), before taking the bus with a toddler and groceries ANY DAY. I would rather force myself to exercise, than force myself NOT to make eye-contact with people who are sitting, facing straight-toward me.

My life may keep me busy, but sometimes busy=bland. Nobody likes bland. If they do, they are referring to food, and are using the word “plain” instead of bland. As a mom, it’s first comes bland, then comes depression. Depression will probably get worse once I start feeling like a bad mom for being depressed, and I’ll probably end up laying next to my daughter while she sleeps, with tears rolling down my cheeks, whispering “I’m so sorry,  I promise I’ll do better,” into her sleep-deafened ears, and silently promise myself that tomorrow will be different…

Sometimes the next day is different. Sometimes it isn’t. I know my life is bland, but I feel like I shouldn’t even get upset about that, because my life was no longer in focus the day my daughter’s  life began. Some people say that a person’s life is over once they have a child, not saying it in a bad way, just in a…my-child-is-my-life, sort of way. Other people say that parents need to take time for themselves as well. What about us parents who do not have time for ourselves? How many single parents, that are low-income and low on resources, with full custody of their child(ren), actually have time, or even an opportunity, to take for themselves?

I love my daughter. I would not change a thing, except the fact that my life feels bland… How do the daily routines of responsible parenting become so discouraging? Is it really all about allowing the bubbly, high-pitched voice of optimism to fill the thoughts inside my head?