Thursday, December 12, 2019

The Holidays Suck Balls

I hate Christmas. I hate what it's supposed to stand for because it never really means anything.

Could be cuz I'm not a Christian and I don't understand how and why Christianity works for almost everyone I've ever met. All this "reason for the season" is absolute bullshit. Everyone just buys a lot of shit and goes to their church's Christmas program and revere and adulate and allegedly feel so "blessed."

I am one salty bitch, truth. My kids like Christmas, my husband likes Christmas, my sister in law isn't a Christian exactly but isn't afraid to expound on what Christmas is and how others should view it (hippiecrits are as shitty as paper Christians).

I just want to sit in a quiet room far away for the next two weeks and let this whole fucking season slip away. I wouldn't miss it. I might miss one person or an ideal that will never be realized.

Thursday, September 12, 2019

Retching, Retching

The dark shiny devil that lives in the core of me and the head of me rams me with it's black and bloody horns and urges me to vomit up the poison that's been consumed for these long decades. Swallow it back and heave it up: retching, retching. Endlessly.

My head is sore but no match for my soul.

Why is it so obscene and ugly?

Wednesday, November 7, 2018

The Question That's Going to Keep Me Awake Tonight

What the fuck is consciousness for?

The less socially and personally conscious amongst us seem a lot happier. That's not to say there aren't plenty of intelligent people who are happy...just don't confuse intelligence with consciousness.

Consciousness sometimes moonlights as enlightenment, as a state of satisfaction, as a state of completely unconscious worthiness.

Whether you're staring into the black or completely surrounded by it, consciousness is hell. The thought of being conscious until the day you die "naturally" is a bitter, choking, sticky horse pill. You might try to make yourself less conscious with whatever you can get your hands on, or put all of the shit into a box in your mind until it begins to leak out and won't be stifled. When the seal on the box begins to break (for however many times it may happen), it's like going down a slide that gets faster and faster as you near the bottom. Instead of the thrill of a great ride, there's a monster down there. It doesn't bite or scream or roar, burn you or drown you. It might freeze you. It will keep you away from light. It will place you naked on a cold slab, maybe in whatever corner you can find your way to in the complete darkness. When you reach the bottom, sometimes it feels like dying is the only way to escape it. You might end it early or you might wait, day after miserable endless night, until dying comes to you, ending the voice in your head that tells you what a fucking coward you are not to have taken the reins sooner.

It's hard to get help from that place. Sometimes talking about what's going on worries you that what you say could be perceived as an attention-grab, and you can't stand bringing your darkness to anyone's attention. You can't bring your consciousness out into the light. It's just easier to eat the pain, though it's so rotten you retch between bites, spit between gasps of air.

Less consciousness would be a great kindness.

Friday, April 20, 2018

Smoke 'em if u Got 'em

Today, my father would have turned 88 years old. I have roughly six years of peace as pertains to him; one and 1/2 as pertains to my mother. After they left and I all I had was myself, things started to come up to the surface. There was all this space that initially seemed empty/peaceful, but it was actually full of shit that didn't have time or strength to be recognized before.

How odd that I should end up registering sex offenders as part of my job. I knew I hated it, but some of the reasons were probably apparent to a few others before I knew myself. The universe pokes and prods and sometimes you land in a space that's uncomfortable for a reason, maybe just to push you into recognizing why you see yourself in every survivor. The memories that you refused to give credence to, the black spots where you don't remember anything, but you remember everything before and everything after.

I almost cried today because I thought I was missing the part of him that made me believe he loved me. Then I realized I wanted to cry because I loved someone who treated me so abhorrently.

I wanted this space and quiet in my head; I thought I could find peace there. Maybe someday. At least there's a recognition now, and I see some of the things I always lied to myself about. I've been as willfully blind to myself as the caretakers/parents of some of these survivors were about what they put their children through...to have a man, to not have to make tough decisions, to blame it on the child, to blame it on a religion. I am to myself as some of the dirtbags were to their charges. No wonder I was so pissed at all the parents that didn't take care of their children. I wasn't even as angry at my mother and father than I was angry at myself as an adult not protecting me as a child.

Monday, March 5, 2018

Not How I Always Feel, But It's A Great Song

Closer to Fine
LYRICS
I'm tryin' to tell you somethin' 'bout my life
Maybe give me insight between black and white
And the best thing you've ever done for me
Is to help me take my life less seriously
It's only life after all, yeah
Well darkness has a hunger that's insatiable
And lightness has a call that's hard to hear
I wrap my fear around me like a blanket
I sailed my ship of safety 'til I sank it
I'm crawling on your shores
And I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountains
There's more than one answer to these questions
Pointing me in a crooked line
And the less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine
The closer I am to fine
And I went to see the doctor of philosophy
With a poster of Rasputin and a beard down to his knee
He never did marry or see a B-Grade movie
He graded my performance, he said he could see through me
I spent four years prostrate to the higher mind
Got my paper and I was free
I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountains
There's more than one answer to these questions
Pointing me in a crooked line
And the less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine
The closer I am to fine, yeah
I stopped by the bar at three A.M.
To seek solace in a bottle, or possibly a friend
And I woke up with a headache like my head against a board
Twice as cloudy as I'd been the night before
And I went in seeking clarity
I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountains
We go to the doctor, we go to the mountains
We look to the children, we drink from the fountain
Yeah, we go to the Bible, we go through the work out
We read up on revival, we stand up for the lookout
There's more than one answer to these questions
Pointing me in a crooked line
And the less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine
The closer I am to fine
The closer I am to fine, yeah
Songwriters: Amy Elizabeth Ray / Emily Ann Saliers
Closer to Fine lyrics © EMI Music Publishing, Universal Music Publishing Group

Saturday, January 27, 2018

Goodbye, Pal

http://www.northdallasfuneralhome.com/obituary/15593/#comment-19935

You helped me more than I can put into words. I wish you peace.