Decryption.

So my Bit Locker backup harddrive went missing between 1 and 3 months ago; an event that has caused many wasted hours in vain, searching for something that I couldn’t understand was actually physically gone from my possession. This drive has EVERYTHING of any importance to me and, has the datum equivalent of my existence on it. This drive has been my perpetual data dump since I left the tax firm in 2013. After so many days of panic and stress over the unknown location of this piece of equipment went by without even the slightest insight of where in the Hell it could have gone, I was exhausted by the search and had given up hope for the time being, figuring that like so many things in my life go, it would eventually turn up most unexpectedly.

Yesterday, after days and days of viscous cycling of the tensions between myself and the absolute WORM who I’ve been stupidly calling my “fiancé” and/or boyfriend for quite some time (over a fucking joke of a year and a half), I broke it off for good by wishing him well in future days and explaining that he’s been perpetually out of line as well as out of touch with reality in regard to his constant accusations and explosive and toxic mood swings etc.

His response was to say,

“For the record, Bit Locker encryption is simple to crack.”

My end of the line went deeply silent and then a dial tone on his end.

My mind was reeling from his subtle admission. I know he’s not lying about having my Bit Locker because I never mentioned it’s disappearance to him in the time since he left my residence after staying with me for Thanksgiving. Everything fell mentally into place though, and I am now swallowing the unexpected reality of the person I’ve retarded placed my EVERYTHING in has, in actuality, been using and playing me for a very long time.

When I eventually said something along the lines of:

“So you’re not only a liar but you’re also a thief?”

Because this fucking weasel has always talked long shit about how he’ll “have nothing to do with cheaters, liars and/or thieves”, the slight wasn’t felt slightly but quite substantially by me. So now it all makes sense, how he went home after Thanksgiving with a stolen piece of my property and weaseled his way into my privacy like a WORM.
I don’t know what all is on that harddrive, there’s so much stuff on there from many people’s computers over the years; including my Mom and my Daughter’s. This time very personal time capsule of information and historical data also includes all of my photos of ex boyfriends (meaningful or otherwise), childhood, family (dead, missing or alive), as well as any other document attached to my existence over the past decade or more. It was a thing that never saw the light of day and was permanently at my residence.
My piece of shit former fiancé rifled through my shit and stole it from my house while visiting me for Thanksgiving! The implication behind his performing such an action while we were supposedly on the happiest of terms has staggered my ability to be sensible. I am feeling so incredibly violated by someone (some… thing) who I’ve worked hard to let into my hyper-vigilant and sheltered stronghold.

These things jade me beyond words.

My heart has hardened once again over night, and the world is a much blacker and ugly fucking place today, like it always used to be…like it’s apparently going to be forever.

I am very full of regret and self-loathing at present; I hate myself for making such a stupid and lasting mistake in the character of someone who got closest to me of all. I hate myself for being myself. I’m likely not going to write for a while here. This website is like a haunting ghost in its own right.

Newly twisted and caught up.

Not giving a fuck.

…just another in a long line of men who misrepresented themselves and turned out to be a sham.

1/2 Hour Life-Span.

I love how you fancy yourself,
Sending gifts and wishes well,
Lending bits of your own Living Hell
But underneath you’re corrosive still
I love how you randomly pose as my friend
Obviously not wanting to tie this loose end
You act like your choices aren’t hard to defend
You’re onward and upward and I’m dust in your wind
I love the fact that you’ve traced around
The base I laid out on solid ground
While your betrayal has been quite profound
You remain unwilling to own it now
I love how you jumped from the frying pan
Into the flames of a garbage can
You cursed possibility before it began
With the harshest reality that you’re a conman




Vacuum.

All at once,

Like a sucker punch,

Surprise, it’s like,

It says so in my eyes,

“Please tell me lies”,

All the same,

Never owning the blame,

It’s true, it’s like,

I saw it way before you,

Subtract one from two,

All in time,

On a clock that’s behind,

And now, it’s like,

Father Time won’t allow,

Still stuck on stupid somehow.

PART ONE: THE ACCOUNTING DEPT.

Shame on them all, the blind fuckheads that they are…how soon we forget where we came from.

  1. You’ve got Ms. Office Manager of “Deliverance”:
    too caught up in her own confusion and cluelessness to even realize what a mistake it was to put someone as lacking in workplace knowledge and ethic as herself in charge. She calls shots and plays smart as the accounting department goes to shambles because she doesn’t know shit about what she’s doing from day to day. Not cold hearted, but heartless. Not even kidding anyone about anything, despite her failed self-imaging of a Jedi Master.
  2. Then there’s lil Miss “Princess Complex” Assistant Manager:
    She’s like 12 years old, in every way besides her ungainly height…the very last kind of person on Earth you wanna give any control to because yeah, she likely blows kisses to herself in the mirror whenever she gets the chance. This one is single handedly holding up the accounting department, and this can’t last. The gods have put her quite the lose-lose predicament, though she doesn’t know it yet. Too young for me to really hate forever.

Next, there’s Wednesday Addams, the unknowing lame:
So what? Wow, she inputs data and walks around like a permanent Mad Dog, with the most miserably frowning face imaginable every moment of every day. She covertly snitches on co-workers, pays far too much attention to what everyone else is doing, and was personally offended by Miss Princess Complex’s promotion to Assistant Manager when it happened, talking long shot about the entire situation. I’ve never heard her say anything remotely positive about the company etc. If any workplace on the planet had fewer employees like her, the world would be a better place.

The kicker to this scenario is that the rest of “the team” bust their collective assets to hold everything together: good, bad or otherwise. It tolls heavily. Then, the instant somebody speaks up about the conditions that we’re working under, it’s announced that employees are not allowed to walk around expressing any type of dissatisfaction.
Well Wednesday Addams gets to walk around looking looking like her dog just got run over by a car.
Fuck that place, I’m blessed to have finally gotten out.

Daily Disillusions. One.

Some of my longtime readers may recall how, throughout the lifetime of my blog, I’ve described the very deep-seated issues surrounding my long tattered relationship with my mama; things that stemmed from early childhood and only snowballed throughout my life until I was an adult and became estranged from her on my own terms for a time. Some might recall the ways in which I was openly struggling with the actual severing of ties between her and me due to her direct and quite unhealthy ties to my own daughter in the months prior to her diagnosis. The cruelly finite death sentence of late stage lung cancer that was handed down to her early last December quickly changed my life’s direction, and before I knew it, I became her main (if not her only) confidant, caretaker, nurse and administrative assistant/scheduler.

I can’t believe she has survived so long…at least not when compared to the very short time that was originally laid out in her prognosis, not to mention the very close brush with sudden death she initially undertook on the trail of her first chemo via febrile pneumonia and neutropenia that landed her in the ICU for several weeks. At that point, she was recovering from the dip in her white blood cells that had left her open like a sitting duck for the infections that literally almost killed her in the beginning of her “treatment”, and wanted to spend Christmas at my Aunt and Uncle’s house with our family. Given the circumstances, I was certain that last year would be her final holiday season alive, so I killed myself emotionally and financially to make her holiday as close to perfect as possible.

It was also during that period of time that her husband of 40 years, my long-time father figure, abandoned my mama completely in the face of her illness and impending death. She never went back home again, as her husband repeatedly failed to clear out the presence of my daughter and her disgusting friends from the house.

Some of my readers might recall how I had been struggling for several years with my parents over their unwavering loyalty (to the point of sheer stupidity) to my absolutely sociopathic and parasitic offspring – and the undeniable affect that such loyalties would inevitably leave in their proverbial laps. It only got worse as time went by; and as soon as my mom was out of the house, it went to Hell in a hand-basket. They began getting notices from the landlord within weeks, my daughter having gotten a puppy that destroyed the carpets and some of the walls and woodwork. In the passage of time between then and now, my former step father also managed to lose his car, his savings, his healthcare coverage and anything else worth anything at all that he might have owned.

Two days ago, a 3 day notice to quit the premises was posted on the front door of the house that was once my mama’s home. For some reason, my former step father was surprised enough by this that he called my mom and told her, obviously upsetting her on many levels. She now also has been burdened.by the anxiety, disappointment, worry, and heartbreak attached to learning (being reminded of) of the reality that her entire estate of 50 years’ worth of the obsessively collected, pack-rat-esque, silverfish friendly belongings that she has bent over backward to hang onto throughout handfuls of relocations, burglarized storage units, rats and various destructive insect infestations, and 2 fires: is gone with a 3 day notice to quit the premises.  I know this breaks her heart because I know how she is and I have come to accept and endear the wacky things that she holds closest to her heart, as indecipherable as most may be.

That house is full of my own history also, mine and my daughter’s…and any of the things that I would’ve wanted to have from my mama will be gone as well. I have not been surprised by this unfolding of the Living Hell that has come to define every direction of what I would’ve once called “my family”; I was writing letters on my mom’s behalf to her landlord almost a year ago, so it’s not like my former step father and daughter (who will soon be homeless and without much but the things each can carry somehow) can say they didn’t see this coming.

The entire situation, which has gotten so far out of control that it’s beyond repair or interference from any outside party, is beyond my ability to intellectually grasp on any level. I am ashamed of my former step father for his absolute lack of action in even keeping himself afloat in the face of my daughter’s shenanigans. He has not only allowed and enabled this nightmare to play out like it is – but he also dares to call my dying mother (who is separated from him for the very same lack of action) and heap the load onto her already broken back. I am so sad and miserable over all of it, as I am in no position to offer anything in terms of any kind of aid or guidance to such an obviously lost cause as the situation at my mom’s old house, I want no part of that noise at all.

I also feel very bitter toward my mama again for the shit she painted herself into this corner with; a notion not so foreign to my heart and mind…I just wish she would’ve listened to me in the first place about letting my daughter move into her home when she left the hospital with her tracheotomy a few years ago. Thinking back to that now in this very moment, my eyes are swollen with tears because I remember my mom’s staunch position on “seeing Boo through the removal of the trach and subsequent recovery”, no matter what I said about it. I was dumb-founded by her blind loyalty to someone who had burglarized her home and stolen her car. I have come to feel so embittered by and ashamed of Boo these days, I have no words for that element of things…besides bad ones.

In short, everything is as bad as ever…waiting for that other shoe to drop hard on my head and heart…working with an asshole who fucked with my emotions and made me hate him as a result – having to look at his weasel face every day, has been wearing on me…too distracted to touch myself, too disgusted to touch anyone else…working hard and earning shit…more disillusioned every day beginning with my commute to work at 7am.

Walk, Talk and Breathe.

Friends that refuse to respect of me,
the smallest of ways that I ask to be,
excused from their own stupidity,
yet – they choose to abuse,
and they find these things funny…
A family turned to the judge and jury,
no hand extended in my times of need,
the after-burn of that first, initial sting,
the day I noticed they were on an opposing team…
Others play the friendly role all too regularly,
to the point it’s obvious there’s no true identity,
behind any of the faces in the places close to me,
just life-sized puppets that walk, talk and breathe…

Human Loyalties.

Today, I want to discuss the notion of loyalty; and, what loyalty means at the end of the day to me, at least.

My mama has been married to my my stepdad for just over 31 years (their 31st anniversary was on 28th of December); she has NEVER strayed on him or done him dirty in all that time (outside of the trivial bullshit that people do to each other when they spend too much time together) – and he has never done her dirty either.

When she was diagnosed with terminal cancer on December 6, his initial response was to remain in full-blown denial about it until she nearly died the first time she was taken to the ER (the sudden fever of 104 degrees, C-dif and septic pneumonia). It was at that point that he must have realized how near any time that they had remaining together was to being over; and he began to display dickhead behaviors such as flaking off her appointments, not answering or returning her calls and, most shockingly, never coming to visit her when she was recovering in the hospital ICU.

My mom’s heart was broken by this alteration in his behavior, needless to say; and her feelings toward him changed, accordingly. Due to her compromised immune system, her release from the hospital required certain things directly pertaining to her environment and its safety in the face of her vulnerable and weakened state. Again, he did nothing to make this happen for her to be able to go home to her own house to recover. He refused to kick my meth-addicted daughter out completely and permanently (methamphetamine smoke is NOT an okay element for someone in my mother’s condition, nor are any of the people or things associated with it’s destructive nature); he failed to make the few adjustments that were asked of him, failed to show up for the jobs that he and I were supposed to be covering for my mom, and eventually – he disappeared altogether. Yes. Disappeared.

During the past few weeks of living Hell for my mom and the rest of our family, he has been doing gods know what somewhere else, without even a call to inquire about whether his wife was dead or alive. When my mom began to show signs of true delirium (due to a brain seizure that lasted for 5 days), she would re-surface to lucidity pretty often at first. During those times, she would be heart-broken over and over again to “learn” that her husband had abandoned her. Watching her go through that repeatedly was one of the hardest things I have ever had endure, and something snapped inside of me during that blur of days strung together in my mind; it was something I will never forgive him for, doing that to her during such a crucial time of her dwindling life.

When she returned to the hospital in the grips of the seizure (this most recent time), I finally had the freedom and time to track his sorry down and talk to him face to face, a circumstance that may or may not have been what my mom wanted me to do, but was done either way. I described in minute detail, the nightmarish existence my mama had come under over and over upon realizing his absence in her life; I told him that I hoped he and my daughter were happy for what they’d done to my mom; I told him if I ever saw him anywhere near her hospital room or subsequent residence, I would have a bullet put through his brain. I told him what a piece of useless shit he had been turned into in my own perception, and I also told him that my mom should have left him years ago. The very last thing that I made sure to point out to him was the way that: if the tables had been turned and he had been diagnosed with cancer or some other terminal illness, my mom NEVER would have abandoned him. NEVER.

Before I left, I reiterated my threats to him, if he comes near my mama again for any reason.

And those, as rough around the edges as they might be, are my random thoughts on human “loyalties”.

Betrayal, Trust and Rubber Gloves.

I’m “on my way”…
or, so they say…
to wholeness,
and to healing,
a widely prophesied,
place made of:
my “better days”…
while, somehow…
I’m still circling…
the same ol’ slimy drain…
I must’ve taken,
a few wrong turns,
while on my way,
to this elusive terrain…
just as a high-flying kite,
gets wind-battered,
gets tattered, and…
inevitably loses the fight…
my wings…
have gone numb…
these things,
suddenly seem:
horrifyingly dumb…
Life is just…
a matter of,
betrayal and trust…
and rubber gloves…
no thoughts of,
the Gods above,
no time for that…
no time for love…
no love,
left to give,
anyway…
the love in me,
has unfortunately:
wrapped and tied,
it’s been…
entombed,
in a mausoleum…
like a packaged ham…
thrown atop a pile,
of a million replications…
my love has been,
expunged…
cracked and dry…
like each one of…
my hollow eyes…
trudge the muck,
trudge the mud,
and eventually, they promise me:
I will come to rise…
away from the struggle,
away from the pain…
known as my Life.

Bad Seed.

What were you expecting
by reaching out to me?
a disapproving stranger
without any sympathy;

I have nothing left to give you
you’ve stripped my being clean
Put that red hand back in your pocket
when you’re in my vicinity;

Your struggles and your sadness
are not lost on what I perceive
The creature you’ve turned into
was somehow born to me;

Yet, in spite of such genetics
you remain a foreign entity
I may be your mother
but my daughter is deceased;

People blame and name me
pass judgment cruelly
And perhaps, I am a failure
I don’t deny these things;

Whatever I stand up for
in the end of such tragedy
I will not be standing
for what you’ve grown up to be.

Kneel.

Days…
like today:
I am too low to partake;
my mind’s in rapid decay,
the throb of a headache –

mistakes…
that I’ve made:
stupid things that I’ve said;
serenade a percussion parade,
through the confusion in my head –

evenings…
like this:
make my heart reminisce;
I didn’t know he was built like this,
the King in my castle has been dismissed –

regrets…
that I feel:
fester beneath this raw deal;
the question of what’s even real,
about the man in the boots at which I kneel.

Sold Out.

How much did my heart end up bidding for?

That day when you auctioned the final valve out;

How many times did I have to beg you to stop?

Before you even realized what I was begging about.

And, when the snow fell in around your barricaded world ;

and no one else cared to come dig for your face…

that final shot – the one that stole your last sane thought –

must’ve come to you just as I set fire to my own face.

I still find your child-like, crumpled pieces of note;

an ocean of lies with each word that you wrote;

I still scream teardrop stains that streak down both cheeks;

Alone and afraid to swim through the bullshit you speak.

The doctors say the fragments of your blade is almost gone;

my back will heal up and they’ll sew my wings back on…

so that I can take flight just one very last time –

in order to die with a grip on what’s mine.

Tread In Shadow.

Where have you been hiding
for these days of mine passed by?
which demons were you fighting
when I asked you for the time?
what goes on inside your head
while your hand unzips my fly?
which memories come back to you
when your breath becomes a sigh?
do you still think that True Heaven
is a place in between my thighs?
have you forgotten how you left me
and never bothered to tell me why?
does your betrayal and embitterment
shine right through the blue in my eyes?
are you aware of the pain in the air
multiplied by moments that drip-dry?
do you know that I’m empty without you?
the skeletal remains of a burial site;
and, though I am forsaken in darkness
I tread in shadow and by moonlight.

Deflation.

“Hope is a good breakfast but a bad supper.”
~ W. Rawley

When you have a daughter like mine, this is the element that destroys you:
The incurable death wish that transcends even a hole in her own throat; Boo left the hospital last night at some point with an unknown couple and has not returned.
Granted, it is her M.O. to disappear from a recovery unit in the hospital, she has always done that. But never before has she had something as serious as a tracheotomy to worry about. She was notably struggling to breathe in the hospital – what is she going through out there? I don’t understand…I don’t believe it…but I am forced to accept the fact that she intended it. She apparently walked out by her own free will once again. She likes to think that she knows everything and has it all under control, somehow…and…well, we have all seen how well she keeps things under control…
So once again, as of the instant I woke up this morning:
My heart has disappeared to an unknown location outside of my body but still pumps and beats painfully.

inked us 2015

The Slow Drink.

One element of the strained relationship that I have never written about before on this blog is that which makes up the dynamic between myself and my parents (my mother and step-father) and Boo; the reasons behind this were self-serving, as the depth of detail that would be involved in trying to write down this dynamic is daunting to consider. In order to write about the current status of things now, however, I must do a summary of that dynamic first:
• Upon my return from a long-time in-patient stay at the hospital, she had changed (this much, I HAVE written about in the past on this blog) – changed in the sense of her overall characteristics, personality and functioning behaviors – she had become “spoiled” in the classic sense as a result of residing with her doting grandparents for too long without any real ground rules.
• It didn’t surprise me as much as it hurt me to quickly learn that when given a choice in the matter, Boo would unfailingly and repeatedly choose to be with her grandparents (instead of me) – as she could control the situation to a disturbing degree when she was with them, as opposed to when she was with me.
• A wedge was built between all of us.
• Boo’s “splitting” set the stage for the years to come.

By the time I had come to terms with Boo’s preference of my parents over me, it was because I was unable to uphold the rules and culture of my home when she was at home; her disregard and disrespect for my expectations as well as my consistency when it came to cause and effect, and any attached repercussions that she might have at a given time. She never had consequences with my parents: they let her run all over them and always found reasons to excuse her behaviors – to the point of sheer enablement. It had become so bad that even prior to Boo’s being put into a “residential treatment facility”, our family was at constant odds in regard to what to do with her. They always accused me of being too hard on her; and I still stand firm that they were detrimentally lenient with an unruly child.
I hate to say this, but everything that has become…everything that our so-called family has disintegrated away to…I had flashes of it years ago; I saw it coming – or at least the very clearly represented possibility of such an un-solvable puzzle as that in which we now reside. As time wore on, Boo began to steal from them; by the time she was eight years old, she had already broken into my step-dad’s safe and stolen close to $1,000.00 over the gradual period of about a year or so. When I learned of this, I exploded and went into a rage, admittedly; I was disgusted and ashamed of Boo for such despicable things. It was within the following few months that she was remanded to the place where she became a child victim of sexual assault – and things obviously tail-spun from there to a much deeper and darker type of despair for our family. However, my explosive reaction to Boo stealing from my parents had started another period of time in which I was once again: cast out and collectively shunned by my mother’s closest family. Things were in such a state when Boo went away, and I did not start to speak to my parents again until several years later – when Boo was almost killed for the first time by a grown man while she was on the lam. None of us had seen nor heard from her in over a month and our fear drew us together at the hospital.
Since then, we have been pretty solid…
I believe the healing that seems to have been happening within my relationships with my parents (together and individually) is due to Boo’s worsening behaviors and lessening concern with how those behaviors affect the people who love her i.e. my parents and I. These days, it’s during the times when Boo has showed her ass and stabbed one or both of them in the back with painful blatancy somehow, that they tend to want me around for comfort. I am happy to be around them for this purpose and always have been, so in turn, is created a circumstance to which I am only bound by the negative and destructive displays put forth by my daughter. Upon my return from the last visit I had with Boo on her 18th birthday in May, I have only been re-affirmed through her own actions of her complete inability to live an honest life, in pretty much any context. She has since that visit, been kidnapped, tortured and maimed, literally nearly killed, had surgery, been hospitalized, and eventually returned to my her home county as a judicially procedural result; she has come back to her hometown – where I live.
She did not come back with any changed sense of appreciation for Life or how close she was to losing hers, unfortunately, either. No, Boo was flown back by her trusty and ever-disappointing “case worker” with nowhere to go besides yet another joke of a Sober Living Environment Safe house that only allowed her in because of some professional future perk the county offered in desperate return for an open bed. Boo lasted all of two whole days there (never calling or apprising any of us to the developing situation surrounding her living status or whereabouts – because she doesn’t have to now that she is an adult). As soon as she finished her course of antibiotic and needed no further assistance to shower etc. due to her numerous and severe recovering flesh wounds that are dispersed quite evenly from her head to toe – she was gone again.
She showed up at my parents apparently; and next, somehow managed to talk my dad into buying her a fucking top of the line i-phone and adding her to his phone plan (he still uses an ancient flip-phone w/out a camera); she promised all kinds of shit and then took a shower, ransacked my mother’s bedroom and jewelry, put on some hooker shoes, and left once again.
• She stole heirloom jewelry from my mother
• She came to the house with ONLY the plan of exploiting my dad’s fondness of her
• She has not returned since
She has, however, had the fucking audacity to call and ask for more cash!!! Not only from my dad, but also me and my mother also!!! My mom has finally been forced to water and I’m helping her to drink as slowly as possible, because it hurts like Hell to be stabbed in the back by a grown child of your own line that you helped raise up, I know…I know. But my dad…well, he would likely GIVE HER MORE CASH if he had the opportunity to do it without me and my mom finding out, I just know it deep down…and I don’t like it.

“Be fucked”.

“Be Fucked.”    – Calamity Jane


I received a package containing all of my daughter’s school papers, notebooks and any other miscellaneous documents that she collected over the years of her incarcerated teenaged life. I have had possession of the box for almost a month now and only opened it the other day because my mother was seeking out a particular photo that she assured me was inside.

mock my painI have avoided opening this box and exposing myself to the mess of utter bullshit that it encloses, as I know that there is very little about her persona that is her own; the lies that she cultivates and maintains regarding her real life events and the real family associated with them. It’s been a few years now that I’ve had to digest the fact that my only child is a compulsive liar who seems incapable of telling even simple truths in the most casual of contexts.

I can imagine what it must feel like for the mother of a serial killer or a fucking terrorist who has been identified and detained before the world to see: the inconsolable shame and regret, bewilderment and lack of any ability to relate to the actions of one’s own offspring – much less: be able to account for any of those actions as the mother of the creature in question…I don’t need to imagine what it feels like to go through the later part of one’s life in absolute shock and faltering denial pertaining to the finally produced grown-up version of what was once her child; the child she never understood or related to, the child that boggled her mind and trampled her heart in the long run.

be fuckedBut yeah, my good ol’ mom insisted on sending me to swim with the jellyfish yesterday, and asked me to look for the photo in the box…and…

Was I surprised by the horse-shit chronicles that I found inside?

Hell no.

Does it hurt my very core to its hollows upon being reminded how very fucked up my kid is as a human creature, to be able to put such miserable dishonesty in writing?

Hell yes it does, every time…to read such disillusion in her own words always stings and burns like it was the first time reading it.

Yes, the box is chock-full of lies and delusions in written form; horribly non-believable versions of her life story that paint not only me – but my parents as well – as warped, mutilated and fabricated versions of ourselves to fit the varying purposes such documents were meant to serve. These constructs of penned deceit written by the hand of my only child are not something I take lightly – on any level; as they have come to serve as written proof in my mind that my child has been lost to me and my family for a long, long time already. And, somehow – as crazy and unhealthy as this may come across to my readers, to be reminded of exactly the depths of character incessantly displayed by her at the cost of her own family – the only people who have ever given two real fucks about her – is a comfort to me now; as I have no idea whether she is dead or alive, anyway.

Kneel.

Days…
like today:
I am too low to partake;
my mind’s in rapid decay,
the throb of a headache –

mistakes…
that I’ve made:
stupid things that I’ve said;
serenade a percussion parade,
through the confusion in my head –

evenings…
like this:
make my heart reminisce;
I didn’t know he was built like this,
the King in my castle has been dismissed –

regrets…
that I feel:
fester beneath this raw deal;
the question of what’s even real,
about the man in the boots at which I kneel.

Transparency.

It doesn’t become you, dear…
the façade behind which,
you run your operation;
the way you slither about in the grass,
drawing in the vulnerable as you pass,
to wound the wounded –
is your only obligation;
it’s the pitiful display of need,
that infuses each implanted seed –
passed around like bread,
throughout the broken nation;
think of those who you’ve duped –
the fools who blindly follow you,
you’ve built a congregation,
haven’t you?
An army on beaten up hearts –
many men in cuffs and shackles,
defeated by your empty promises,
ready to fight for your salvation;
but weakened to the core,
unable to stand up anymore –
what kind of army refuses,
to leave the feet of the Queen,
that they fight for?
I will tell you –
an army of drones,
dark, abandoned homes,
a legion of poor bastards –
who’ve been blinded by you,
by the lies that you tell,
the ‘save me’ song and dance,
you play so perfectly well –
the meshing and molding,
the bending and folding,
it’s all so obvious as Hell;

Shame on Me.

I put my hat on backwards –
to straighten out my crooked head,
it doesn’t always do the trick,
but it keeps me out from under the bed;

I ride my surfboard goofy –
because that’s just how I roll,
it’s too hard to break the chains,
to the habits that we know;

I drive around much faster –
than I am supposed to be,
but if I don’t, the masses,
will surely get the best of me;

I give much more freely –
than I ever really should,
I suppose this may be because,
of my collection of nickels made of wood;

I am not an idiot –
in contrast to the things that I may do,
I am simply surviving,
just trying to make my own way through.

Jealousy’s Dead King.

I know who my friends are,
and also who they aren’t;
I see those who take the heed,
and I see the ones that won’t;
I feel the people who try to steal,
away what isn’t theirs’ to take;
I hear the ones who never mean,
a single promise that they make;
I touch the hands of many,
both the wicked and the good;
I taste the wishes and secret desires,
of the least expectant that I would;
I sense the misrepresentations,
belonging to faces of those I’ve believed;
I’ve held the lies and deceit in my palm,
while the mouth tried to find them to speak;
I am not blind to the inner-workings of envy,
and the ways that its evil unfolds;
I was marked by Jealousy’s Dead King,
back in my own days of old;
Do not think that my big heart is a target,
because its dark surfaces hold bright red within;
do not think you will come up on my weakness,
of still managing to live like a decent human;
For all of your troubles and scheming,
will land you long and far from me;
my great, big heart holds no room inside,
for the many wanna-be’s of true humanity.

Handled Badly

handled badlyDear Heart,

Please just do your job and pump my blood – that’s all you’re supposed to be getting involved with; thank you very much!

Love,

Your Host

TRUE Story.

Wow.

Wow.

 

Why can’t people just be honest about shit, especially shit that’s already said and done. When someone draws the proverbial line in the dirt, in my opinion, it’s much more respectable to stand tall next to what they’ve drawn, instead of pretending that it hadn’t been them who drew it before I got there, or when I wasn’t looking. Worst yet, it’s not as if I can’t handle being told the truth – I’m a big girl.

All I can say is that when someone doesn’t bang what they claim, it only means that someone’s heart isn’t in whatever they’re claiming. It’s irritating to me that I’m apparently not worthy of the truth in the opinion of someone in whom I have placed a lot of faith and probably too much kindred-ship in. I partially get it, it’s a generational thing – an age thing – which is fine…go be in a lion’s den instead, if that’s what sinks your pickle…but be real about it at least, damn…

Damn…

Judgment Day

He LIED to me, blatantly and cruelly, despite my genuine support of HIS BULLSHIT for so long – day in and day out –

HE HAD BEEN LYING TO ME SINCE I TRIED TO “DO THE RIGHT THING” AND KNOCK THE WHOLE THING OFF, MONTHS BEFORE HE MOVED OUT!!!

And while that type of thing is obviously okay with you and your people, it IS NOT OKAY with me. I didn’t deserve it; I didn’t ask for it (literally, the opposite); and I will damned if I am going to be further insulted about the fucked up bullshit that I just endured at the hands of your “friend” by you – when you truly have no clue what you’re even talking about. It sucks that you had to go there and say the absolute worst thing you could possibly say to me in regard to that pondscum “friend” of yours – and my so-called “unnecessary drama”. Where the hell do you get off?

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For the record (and so that next time you go talking about it, you KNOW what the fuck REALLY went on):

I tried (beginning several months ago) to break it off. This was due to the fact that I DID, INDEED, SEE THIS BULLSHIT COMING. I tried telling him so many times that I didn’t want shit to end up this way, and all he ever said back to me was stuff like, “Don’t worry…”, or “It’s fine…”, or my personal favorite, “I still want to continue this when I move out…” I tried to tell him that I had no interest in becoming his “booty call”, he swore that wasn’t the case…

Next, when I tried to explain that I had feelings involved for him, and was feeling very used and discarded (based solely on his actions and lack, thereof), in hope that he would understand that this wasn’t stupid game to me – it’s my life – what little there is left of one anyway…he only became more unwilling to behave like a human being. He continued to lie to me throughout his actual move – to appease me in order to continue having his God damned cake and eating it, too. The last batch he dropped off to me prior to the last one, I stood my ground solidly and flat out told him I was losing interest in him and his head games, that I didn’t feel like he was worthy of my attention or affection, that I didn’t want to see him anymore outside of his visits to see you or whatever. He seemed to take in stride, which pissed me off but I let it go.

The very next day, I sent him a text asking to see him before the weekend to swap out batches, as I had finished what he left with me, and he showed up here an hour later – all sweet and sugar-coated, all full of his bullshit lies and head games, and I caved. The next day, I was so angry at myself, and at him, for being such a sucker. I told him so. He proceeded to dog me out once more (the time he flaked me off all day and then showed up shitfaced drunk on a Sunday night), and when he got here, I again, tried to send him packing.

I said: “I don’t want you here if you don’t want to be here.”

He said: “I do, I do want to be here, and you are the only one…I swear.”

And then I let him in my bed again, because I wanted to believe the leis he was telling me, that he’s always been telling me ALL ALONG.

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Please understand that this entire thing has been a head game on my end; and it’s been quite an unjust head game, to boot. I will never understand how certain people are able to sleep at night, but it’s not my place to understand sociopathy, I guess.

All that I know is:

When you or anyone else in your highly misinformed group of “friends” feel obliged to judge me (as I KNOW you ALL do, without doubt), especially in the context of either of the maggot “friends” of yours that I have stupidly tangled with – it would always be more respectable and much less cruel, to actually have the facts and information before doing so. Otherwise, you chalk yourself up with the rest of your “friends” by behaving like a judgmental and pompous jackass.

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I get it, that you and the rest of your “friends” are okay with treating people badly, as long as it doesn’t affect you directly; even if it’s someone you’ve known pretty well and who’s been a staunch ally to you, I get that by now trust me. What I don’t get, and likely never will, is how it is that some people are so capable of smashing what’s REAL and TRUE with the faulty and fabricated bullshit that fits more comfortably for them, for their own life – no regard for what’s right versus what’s wrong, no loyalties (at least, not to the deserving). It’s lost on me.

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Do Not Mistake My Weakness for Kindness

This week has been sullen for me, as an individual human being on a solo journey through this thing called ‘life’…I’ve been stabbed once more in my back – the back that resembles Swiss Cheese these days from so many of these trivial betrayals.

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“Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness.”

Or so, I like to proclaim quite regularly; but in all actuality it’s much more the opposite. I am a weak individual in terms of emotional control: I am cursed with the permanent role of Devil’s Advocate, as well as the additional layers of extreme and seemingly untreatable abandonment issues that have morphed into rejection issues over time. When I say “rejection issues”, I don’t simply apply that to the context of romantic relationships, either…no, unfortunately my insecurities, leeriness, and inability to commit have crossed all boundaries throughout the realms of my world by now – rendering the recluse, socially anxious and withdrawn “thing” that writes this blog. I know that I am the common denominator in all of the failed attempts at intimacy in the years since I learned the truth about the Real World and how quickly someone can literally become someone else altogether. I have repeatedly been shown the lesson of trusting the wrong individual, but have yet to actually learn it, I suppose.

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My worst wounds are the ones people can’t see; the most painful experience of my own survival are born from my psyche, from my perceptions of the world around me as well as the people in it. In reality, this past week has been very minimal in interaction or dialogue or exchange with the backstabber in question; that’s my issue – that’s my symbolic open wound: the ways that others feel so obliged to “use” my weaknesses to their own benefit somehow.

I operate fairly simply and without complexity:

  • If you’ve hurt me in any way, I will let it be known to you – at which point, you have the option to either do right or wrong by me.
  • After a window of a day or so passes by, if you have not chosen to show me the fundamental decency of communication in any sense of the word, you’ve been systematically chalked up with those before you who have acted like a mutant.

In life, I realize that we are each essentially on different journeys in this thing, motivated by varying factors and ambitions; only coinciding to unite forces when the purpose serves each person involved; I get it. I am not some numbskull from whom such concepts escape, trust me; I am however, apparently in some highly masochistic sort of denial to the blatant and repeatedly painful realization that 9 out 10 of the living, breathing, “functioning” carbon-based, human life forms around me at any given moment in time: are quite likely already chalked up to the formerly mentioned category of “mutant”.

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I use the word mutant to describe many types of creatures who live under the palpable existence of “humanity”:

  1. People who steal from other people.
  2. People who bully or terrorize others who are unable to defend themselves due to size or restraints.
  3. People who are dishonest with those who are not.
  4. People who think that they are the exception to “the rule”, any rule.
  5. People who are intrinsically satisfied by watching others suffer.
  6. People who are obnoxious in the need to flaunt and display celebratory behaviors at the cost of others in a form of mockery.
  7. ANYONE WHO HURTS A CHILD.
  8. People who believe that a certain social status or popularity amongst the tanning lights will protect them from the dark side.
  9. People who carry a badge or yield a gavel out of an unsatisfied need for control over others.
  10. People who knowingly look the other way when something WRONG is happening, because to say something would somehow affect their pocketbook negatively.

There are many more types of mutants too: pimps, johns, most government officials, bible thumpers, bullies, etc.

This week, I’ve been dealing with #s 3 and 8 on a pretty regular basis…and it’s been rough on me because I am an adult now, and I have to behave like one – but it’s NOT always easy is it? Sometimes, I would give anything just to be able to allow my fifteen year old Self to come out, just for a few moments and say, “Oh really? You think you’re backstabbing is anything new to me? Seriously, because I wanted to know if my back was hurting your fucking knife yet, you little Weaseling Snake…”, or, “Can it seriously be possible that you’re as fucking Princess Stupid as you’re acting, you stuck-up little spoiled rotten Dumptruck?”…

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…Jesus, I stomp around my house like a fucking Terra Cotta soldier, cursing and snarling under my breath whenever I’m in the same room with one of them – the 1st of May CAN NOT get here fast enough I’ll tell you that much…because I can hardly stand to look at my soon-to-be former roommate or either one of the little shit-kick dogs that are attached to his presence here in what was a once quiet and calm, easy-going and reciprocally supportive home front. I hate sharing space with such an opportunist; as I am NOT built that way by any means. I take yeah…but I am most certainly far from last to refrain from giving back.

I’m trying really hard to be mature and to just let it all roll off my back like water off a duck’s, but I guess I’m not as mature as I need to be, because things bother me when it comes to humanity. It really bothers me when people use me, when people not only use me, but then carry on as if that were always the plan, afterward. Why does some pompous, rich, pretentious fuck need to fuck with me and take from me when he already has more than enough for himself? Greed. Self-absorption. Lack of substance. All I know is that it’s hard to keep giving like the human being that I am by nature, when those with their hands out have mouths so full that they cannot speak to me.

Ok, that’s all for now…I will step down from the podium now…