Unhealthy.

I don’t want to describe any hurt feelings,
Or rake the coals over for any lost meanings,
I have no desire to dissect everything,
Or get to the bottom of your horrid mood swings,
There’s no use in spending a shred more on you,
This wide open freedom was long overdue,
Your venomous essence and landscape of doom,
Your sour-puss presence that swallows a room,
I feel many stones lighter since going my way,
That shadowy darkness is drifting away,
After over a year’s worth of character play,
Now I can focus on myself everyday,
I’m tired and weary of vampires like you,
Who do what you like and like what you do,
Getting over on anyone you can spit your lies to,
And you’ve got a chip on both shoulders, to boot,
The effect of seeing true colors at last,
Has been to make me question our collective past,
That pedestal crumbled and dumped you on your ass,
The truth has set me free to get far away, and fast;
And I know damned well that you’ll lie to yourself,
About the unfairness of the hand you’ve been dealt,
To transfer all blame is a game you can’t seem to help,
I finally comprehend how bad you’ve been for my health.

Last Impressions.

When I first observed your shifty ways,
I glimpsed a foggy, underlying haze;
What is essential remained forever vague,
What was potential went black as plague;
Always heard it within your loud tendencies,
Your repeatedly blatant discrepancies,
Big stories, loud T-shirts and MP3s,
Oozing broken deficiencies,
Your endless supply of one-liner quips,
The total lack of any intact etiquette,
Your falsified versions of all kinds of shit,
How I wish that I never heard any of it;
Because now it’s a puzzle that boggles my brain,
How I bought such a lie sold by the insane,
I cringe at the close shave of taking that name,
From a dirty player playing in a filthy game;
With your perpetual spouting of little known facts,
The effectual role-play of good and kind acts,
A contextual manipulation that deviates from fact,
A perpetual accumulation of memories you’ve hacked
There was a gnawing feeling that I ignored,
Put to the side of who I thought I adored,
I forfeit a wager that I couldn’t afford,
I stupidly missed the big, bold underscore;
Despite your perceptions and points of view,
Your recollections are historically skewed,
With so many imperfections ever seeping through,
I should have spotted early on: the ugliness in you;
It doesn’t matter what you tell yourself to justify,
The bigger picture painted is a tainted, ugly lie,
The glory fizzled out then shriveled up and died,
Left it on the curb with your sulfuric sense of pride.
But you made it so simpler to strap up my boots,
To finally stamp out embers and sweep out the soot,
I won’t remember much of some thieving crook,
Or the irreplaceable piece of equipment he took.

Stay Up On Your Feet.

People say things easily.
Mostly, being insincere.
They strive to weasel into your life and prove something to themselves.
Something rotten and reminiscent of toxic spores. They aim to break the strength they see in you, to make the beautiful into the hideous.
They want to see you cry and beg.
They aim to show you new lows.
They aim to make you alone.
They aim to silently poison your table of knights one by one.
They feign love.
They indignify truth through their very existences.
These people want to be a victim, always; unable to endure what doesn’t fit into a pre-self-determined reality that’s far from being real.
People like this can’t (won’t/don’t) help themselves from being the epitome of protervity and narcissism.
It’s often quite easy to glimpse the actual pig’s (from the state of perpetual pig-headedness of such people) features at times, if you concentrate long enough on their’ faces.
These people are truly hopeless, and entangling yourself with one of them will inarguably take years off of your life.
People need to sleep at night (well, most people, at least) and throughout their’ lives, have honed the art of achieving said sleep by any and all means necessary.
It doesn’t matter who they have to steal from, lie to or cheat on.
Most people are either like puppets or puppeteers.
They can be dragged around by a string and made to do another’s bidding – to be the butt of another’s constant stream of jokes and gags and be kept in a box out of sight, some asshole’s means of venting his subliminal machinations; or they can be the one dragging the strings and throwing their’ voices, the people harboring silently forlorn grudges against all of humanity.
People who feel it necessary to repeatedly outline the purity and righteousness of the lives they lead might as well wear a t-shirt that reads:
“Hey. I’m a fucking Fatmouth. Don’t believe a word I tell you about myself. I’m worth more dead.”
These are the same people who know – deep down – that not a decent individual in the world holds any sentiment in his/her direction, not even mom or dad, usually. Grandma even disowned these people, even, in her own heart.
These are the people who vampire your cha-cha and exhaust you in totality.
Don’t let this brand of evil wash out your colors and make you feel like a faded version of yourself.
These are the people you exchange faked smiles with anytime you meet eachother.
Try to keep those meetings at a minimum.

A Term Used Too Loosely .

Trust is a concept not wholly foreign to me,

though I can’t say I’ve known its full capacity,

I have no logical reason to trust anybody,

the truth shows how folks aren’t so trustworthy;

I was good ‘n fucked up before turning age twenty-three,

I was still desperately hungry for compatibility,

I was open to the notion of such vulnerability,

but, I was lucky to survive such young naivety;

“Relationships” are only hazy mirrors with smoke screens,

Kindnesses and considerations attached to puppet strings,

A song and dance deliverance that molds every human being,

A long, enhanced belligerence that ruins everything;

Dragges away from yesterday,

kicking and screaming,

Have to portray that I’m fine this way,

like my mind’s not smoldering,

And pass the wait in the sullen state,

of accepting ugly things,

cast the fate beneath the sinking weight,

that’s perpetually burdening.

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.

Staggering.

Goodbyes that are perpetual,
The lies that are eventual,
Replies ringing contextual,
Both my hands hang at my sides;


Strive to covtrive the beautiful,
Survive and defy the refutable,
Alive in what’s wise and meaningful,
There’s a flaw in my design;


The fling flung at the unbearable,
A thing that’s become something terrible,
A string strung from me to the pedestal,
Emptiness clouds my mind;


Regret will pervade the unmemorable,
Dissent describes the unfavorable,
Neglect persuades the inevitable,
I can’t claim to wonder why;


Moments unraveled into landmines,
Torment travels through real time,
Encroachments that sting all my blood line,
So staggeringly ill-defined;


This face, tattooed by suffering,
Disgrace has a presence that’s smothering,
Replace the sheer essence of everything,
Recovery’s not always kind.

If Only It Hurt To Be An Asshole.

So…I am plagued right now by several people in my life who seem to think that I am an idiot. I may not always say things in the moment, when someone is attempting to play me like a slot machine, I may not always even realize it at that point in time, but I will realize it. Trust that much. I can’t stand it when people are unable to own their own bullshit in life; much less when said people insist on trying to shift any blame or responsibility over such bullshit onto others when they get called on it.

I have my own bullshit and my own problems. I have my own issues to work on without other people constantly trying to force feed me the workload of their bullshit as well. People just don’t seem to comprehend how fucking stupid they look when they do this, as if I can’t do the math and see what they are doing, or trying to do. Do other people not see how low that takes them by behaving like a 2 year old? Do other people actually think that these pathetic and constant attempts at deflecting the TRUTH will somehow carry them through life? Without losing everyone who might have really cared about them?

It would just be really nice if other people could own their shit, even once in a while. It’s really old being mostly surrounded by people who always want to shift blame and try to make me accountable for shit that has NOTHING to do with me. If only it hurt to be an asshole, maybe people would find a way to check themselves.

Staggering Cruelty.

Yesterday, I was called “so cruel” as to be “staggering to the mind” of the person who chose to voice such a mean-spirited thing to me right now. I was called cruel because I carved out the next few days completely for my mom; so that I will not have to worry about juggling or racing around to fulfill commitments I’ve made to anybody besides my mom. Upon being called cruel in this context yesterday, I realized something quite clearly:

If being with my mother as she lives out the end of her life equates to my own cruelty towards a single person other than her, so fucking be it. I have dread this circumstance for my entire existence, and it has finally come to meet me, to take her away forever. I may be a self-absorbed bitch for ignoring any and all of my other connections to other human beings at present, but that’s the way my crumbly cookie has fallen apart

I am 110% pre-occupied with my mom’s situation, and if that is abnormal – – – shoot me; and then, go fuck yourself real good.

You’re A Worm.

I wonder if you realize how disgusting you are for what you are doing; no need for me to go into detail…you’re fucking gross, dude.

Two things I have learned in recent history that 110% do it in terms of TOTALLY TURNING ME THE FUCK OFF:

  • Being talked to like I am an idiot.
  • Trying to be taken home by a guy (that I used to fuck, a chunk of time ago – like years) who is now sporting a 22 year old girlfriend.

Like I would EVER sleep with you again after knowing this condemning fact about you, dude?… get real. That’s like, my daughter’s age, you sick fuck…you are supposed to be a grown ass man, and I am deeply disappointed to know that you went astray down the road bordering pedophilia, it’s sordid.

Frækhed.

You wanna sit there bathed in such audacity,

you wanna slap my face and kick out my teeth,

you wear some shitty robe and sit in judgement of me,

you carry a badge and a gun but you’re still a bully,

you stare down your nose like you hold some superiority,

you live on the side of the tracks opposite from me,

you wanna come up on me any way you can conceive,

you wanna tell lies and spread rumors around viciously,

you need to feel good about yourself to fall asleep,

you’ll sell-out someone else if it gets you what you need,

you walk around like you think your dirty shit can’t stink,

you weigh 80 pounds with a mouth twice as big as me,

you believe in things that seem to lead to being human sheep,

you flock together with blinders on, unwilling to truly think,

you don’t know the meaning of getting back up on your feet,

you don’t know the feeling of swallowing another defeat,

you wanna sit there smiling stupidly,

you wanna laugh at my misery,

you wanna push me until red’s all I see,

you wanna make a statistic of me.

 

A Favor.

On the internet, people all become falsified,

strangers fall in love and cyber-fuck on Skype,

then it fizzles out and profile access is denied,

and people go crazy and lose their damned minds;

 

some of you talk shit, some will never get past ignorance,

you don’t get that we are, each indeed, quite different,

but if we all got in line and lived behind the same fence,

it wouldn’t be long before everyone was sick and tired of it;

 

the world will keep spinning no matter who thinks,

the sun will still shine on the world when it stinks,

it’s a matter of time until the final mind shrinks,

and the whole of humanity is suddenly extinct;

 

nobody seems able to even try to comprehend,

that when we lose the essence of being human,

we become barbaric, and act foolish to the end,

the end is will be ugly if we don’t all understand;

 

if you’re built to be venomous and mean, genetically,

perhaps you shouldn’t use modern media socially,

because every time you choose to behave like a beast,

someone else gets bruised and you carry on with ease;

 

what about the good folks who are simply trying to “be”?

harassed by your nonsense and pure douchebaggery,

until finally all that’s left on the internet is greed,

do us both a favor and refrain from reading me.

 

 

Kidding.

Beautiful, gorgeous, happy glow…
Your Sweetest Nothing’s
put into syllables, for show.
Fiery, wanting…
glued to your face
your mouth’s curves
a daunting place…
I’ve been before
But tell me how – I bow down
into the splinters and cinders
that litter the floors
like your long line of whores
I see them all,
I choose to ignore…
You never answer questions
your many Life Lessons
have taught you little of
the snap inside my rubber glove
We are meant to Own our possessions.
Are we not?
You have seen quite a lot
Of my flesh,
Camera flash;
digitalized dash
in red LED text;
what now?
Onto the next…
Right?
Or am I wrong?
Am I dumb
To play along?
See here’s the thing:
I see the strings
Attached to each one
Of your crispy clean
cummerbunds…
I see the line of
Space and time,
wrapped inside
Of that tattoo –
You were too pure
to follow through…
Ouch!
this hurts miserably;
Yes you , yes me.
Look away if you must
Please?
Your face is too much
to see, anyway.
Ouch!
Just go on about your
fashionable way.
You were fine before
I came along
In my string bikini thong
to knock upon your door;
You’ll be fine now,
and I guess…
so will I, somehow –
Just forget it all,
my cries and calls,
forget me
don’t see me…
don’t see me fall.
You won’t believe me,
Anyway…
Your ears don’t hear
a word I say.
Go fucking play
As you have,
each and every day
as it’s passed.
What was that?
What did you say?
“Score?…Because of…?”
And you’re talking about
How I showed
my bare ass to you –
FUCK YOU.
For that,
I counter you:
Mr. Fashionably True,
I hope this finds you well;
I hope it reaches you;
And hits you
makes you hurt
as you’re looking up my skirt…
What’s the score again?
Mr. Hockey Man –
dead red battery
flashing in your corner screen,
you don’t know the bones
that construct Lil’ Ol’ Me,
nothing taken seriously…
so fuck yourself,
good and hard –
multiplied by twelve.
I am a star,
And I will shine in Hell –
Quit kidding yourself.

Baited.

Never will you endeavor to mind,

I’ll just be here hanging on the line,

baited breath for the elusive reply,

skin that burns at the turn of your blind eye…

forever and ever spins this glitch in time,

laid out before those very shaded eyes,

a charted route you refuse to recognize,

tongues that sting as they swing and spill lies…

not a moment wasted of your precious time,

no second thought over this burden of mine,

watch me continue, pass right down the line,

no turning back to paint black what I leave behind…

you’ve surely exposed yourself fully this time,

displayed by the drunkenness such greed defines,

so many chances to ignore your beloved dollar sign,

any opportunity to do right by me has at last, passed you by.

 

Away.

I dropped myself backwards over the stern,

you stood at the bow, unwilling to learn,

refusing to follow the map I had drawn,

stagnantly anchored there all the night long,

your disgust was apparent as I swam farther away,

you began to pull the anchor up immediately,

but your head-games had already turned me cold,

so I kept on dog-paddling and cursed you, tenfold,

and as I saw you sail away without me,

just as I should’ve felt my most empty,

the weight of the ocean’s fathomless depths,

vacuumed me up with one huge, inhaled breath,

tucked me safely within its motherly net,

and whispered with love that I wasn’t dead yet,

seeming to rise from the uncharted deep,

a ghostly phantom too long  gone to sleep,

to guide my tired mind and broken body,

to a place of solid earth and humanity,

I found you once again so long afterward,

you were too frozen in place to utter a word,

and I simply conveyed my thanks to you,

for forcing me to see the true colors in you.

 

 

 

Around.

You don’t know what my tears taste like,

because your lips do not catch their’ fall,

and the tendency to judge my actions…

well, you’re nobody to judge me at all.

You don’t have a clue what I’ve come through,

I don’t care where you think that you’ve been,

as soon as you’ve perfected your own shit…

maybe, come back and take a crack at me again.

I don’t need a single person’s approval,

and most certainly wasn’t looking for yours,

I know who I am, against your presumptions…

I stand for the steps you’ve never taken before.

People like you only shrink when compared to,

somebody with half of a beating heart,

I’m not sure why it shines so sure from your eyes…

a slice of humanity would break you apart.

Please keep your greed from my scenery,

if you own the slightest hint of a clue,

of how much I despise the habit of lies…

take heed, if you know what’s good for you.

Because, one day you will taste my teardrops,

you will feel the fathoms of my own grief,

despite all of your efforts at destruction and doom…

someday your reflection will look just like me.

I Beg Not Your Pardon.

I beg your pardon?
repeat it please,
you dare to question,
the validity?
you must be stupid,
or just taught poorly,
to try to overstep,
such a boundary,
the one in question,
making moves at me,
is not some stranger,
made known to me recently,
there is already a bridge,
built between solidly,
with plenty of water,
that flows underneath,
not that it matters,
what you want to believe,
the judgments you’ve made,
are your own to perceive,
but you’d be looked at,
much more respectably,
if you’d recognize,
when you know nothing,
and restrained yourself,
from contributing,
to any conversation,
that includes him and me,
did I forget to mention?
we plan to up and leave,
all the noise behind us,
and be content to do our thing,
I’m sorry – come again?
you must have mistaken me,
I’m not any other than,
the future Mrs. Liberty.

Animals.

This is a piece written and dedicated to Indira Anupindi #E476 (My daughter’s USELESS case worker). I know most of you will not like this piece; but it’s written from my heart and sings my truth.

I’d like to take you and your only child
To a place where the wild animals are
And bind your child to a lone, distant tree
Away from you and I
And, I will call out the animals
That prey on the flesh of your kin
The worst kind of beasts
From atop the food chain
And as night falls they will come to feast
While you and I must watch it all
You will not be allowed to help
Your screams make no sound
Just watch…
and see what becomes,
of your only little one,
he won’t survive long enough
for you to feel my pain
such a meek and gentle child you have
he is nothing like his Destroyer mother,
and he is nothing like my seasoned girl,
just a dead thing at the end of a string
don’t look away
I couldn’t, you wouldn’t let me
here we are,
just the two of us now
shall I go retrieve your baby’s corpse for you
Or would you like to watch him hang a while?

I Fucked Up, Mostly.

From the direction that the wind
had been howling your name,

I listened closely,
to its tune, lingering,
looked up to the sky,
to see each star on high,
set to fire, and burning.

I fucked up, mostly,
all along, ignoring things,
looking down too much,
found myself out in the cuts
car on dead and I’m walking.

Beneath tonight’s gas giants,
I stand howling your name.

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.

HATE.

“You get justice in the next world; in this one you have the law.”
~ William Gaddis

I’m not angry at her; it’s hardly her fault at all – what she has become. I am angry at myself, at her monster of a sperm donor, and at the failed juvenile courts system of the United States of America. I am angry at the useless social workers who weren’t paying any attention to what I told them when I reached out for help with her so long ago; I am angry at the many handfuls of children’s services that miserably disappointed her needs back then; I am angry at the laughable façade called the JUSTICE that remains only through legend and lore.
I am angry at the judge who has sat back for over six years now and watched with a wretched smile as my only child has been spiritually battered to death under her “care”; I am angry at the court-appointed legal representative that gets paid to protect my daughter’s rights as a clueless child in the midst of a heinously constructed legal process; I am angry that my community doesn’t give a shit about my daughter’s demise; I am angry at the various grown men (at least one of them, an employee of above mentioned failed court system) who saw it fitting to have sex with my underage child, beginning when she was only eleven years old.
I am angry at the case worker who claims to love my daughter and truly care for her…she is undoubtedly the BIGGEST piece of shit breathing air at present – the one who could and should have stopped many things many times, but didn’t. I HATE HER. And, I hate nobody else in the Universe.

Just a One-Page-Entry.

We…
you and me…
it turned out –
not quite so,
meant to be.

Feet…
carry me…
right on by –
the desire,
for familiarity.

Me…
I’m angry…
at the truth –
and the lies,
so eye-opening.

See…
the humanity…
finally drain –
of these veins,
I stand empty.

Be…
my history…
more vague –
with each day,
a memory.

Vessel.

No anchor,
been thrown,
no line,
being towed,
a vessel’s ghost,
defective lifeboat;
it’s a truth,
indeed,
to behold,
adrift,
afloat,
a dead pirate’s,
stronghold,
beloved,
lifelong sailboat;
tried and tied,
only by,
the darkness,
of the bays,
skippered,
by the lies,
of yesterday;
anyone who,
thinks he wants to,
try to sail in,
and be made,
to look a fool,
on location,
will only ever see,
this vessel sink,
into the sea,
or over the,
horizon’s brink;
can’t quite ping,
my position,
most secret,
of traditions;
alone,
all gone,
no rise,
of the sun,
moonlight,
shines strong,
my metaphoric,
aquatic tombstone.

Wrapped Up.

When you keep being knocked by the force of the wind,
it’s your real Mother telling you to just let up, and lean in;
and when the days seem to fail to let to let the sunlight brighten,
it’s your own mind’s moonshine that is keeping things dim;
so while the people around you let everything die that they tend,
it’s the whisper of freedom reminding you of your own salvation;
while the snakes pass on their’ venom to the ones they’ve bitten,
it’s your own callousness that creates the protection of your skin;
those nights you were wondering where the Hell I might have been,
just know I wasn’t with you because I can’t always pretend;
when your hands are shaking badly and you can’t get hold of them,
it’s because Lady Karma’s come to teach you another lesson;
when you fail to recognize the fault in your own disposition,
just know that it will be beaten into your essence until it blends;
that there is no way to escape all of this Life’s toughest decisions,
to try to do so only creates a much more lasting ultimatum;
when the world is kicking your ass in front of your friends,
you begin to wonder if you can ever face any of them again;
the odds are stacked against you worse than they have ever been,
do not look to me to glue your eggshell back together, my friend.

My Cheerios.

Today marks a day that I have been abandoned for the last time by somebody who I have let close to me; well, I’m sure it’s not the last time I will be abandoned in life – but it is the last time I will allow myself to feel that way over any individual who strikes me down as a result of his or her own completely unrelated issues.

This will be the last time someone builds anything with me, just to plow over everything we’ve constructed in one, discrediting sweep of the hand; the last time someone who claimed to care about me and mine pisses all over the banquet table and in my cheerios.

I am absolutely disgusted by the way that people tend to martyr off those closest to their shit, the way that people say one thing and do something totally different – especially at random – in some twisted show of power or control.

Today marks the very last time that some totally self-absorbed outsider slips under my radar and gets in to feed off of my life and energies until their belly is near bursting and they’ve had their fill.

You’re Still Number One.

americana102And you always will be. ❤

Children and (in)Justice.

A very fitting ending to my week might have been an explosion that swallowed my entire section of gridlock in rush hour – nowhere to escape to – no matter if you use your blinker, or not; another fitting scenario just as easily could’ve been something along the lines of having my limbs tied to four horses that were subsequently giddy-upped four different directions; or I maybe should have ended up asleep in some dirty crackhead’s tunnel inside of that horrid “sculpture” thing that I spent several days of last week staring at from a cush hotel balcony…that would have sucked.
The ten days leading up to yesterday seem like a dreamscape to me now, somehow – in a surreal and foggy kind of way; the entirety of the emotional expenditure on my part has left me drained, and sensing a question mark floating above my head when I try to think too hard about why that is. I have decided to let it roll off my back for now – all of it; it’s too diabolical and dramatic for me to wrap my head around, anyway. All that I know for sure is that I have lost my focus lately, despite my progress in therapy and my expanding comfortable environments (good sign!), it is suddenly clear to me that I have been quite “functionally” dissociated and detached throughout.
It’s the final “other shoe” that needs to be dropped before I can possibly breathe again like I used to. The tension and anxiety that are attached to Boo’s upcoming 18th birthday and release into a distant community, on her own and without any preparation or real world social skills – well…the underlying dread and fear have rendered me bassackwards on pretty much a daily basis for so long now that it has come to feel “normal”, almost acceptable on some days. But in truth, this ongoing stress factor for me has done a good job at riding me hard; and these days, I guess it’s time to try like Hell to put me away soaking wet.
The darkness that my life has gradually resigned to, as a result of the past six years of Living Hell in a Waking Nightmare that is directly attributed to, as well as executed by – the local courts and government funded agencies – remains as a hue that my words cannot possibly describe with any justice or worthy depiction; the needle went off the vinyl so many years ago and there has been only the hideous, brain-aching sound of the resultant scratching ever since. The professionals charged with protecting my child have collectively gang-raped me (metaphorically speaking) in succession for over six years – legally, and without shame. They have broken my pockets through repeatedly relocating my Boo further and further away in distance, and then denying me the agreed upon (prior to any of the relocations, of course) financial assistance with the lodging/traveling expenses required to maintain any kind of real “relationship” with her afterwards. These so-called professionals have been the CRIMINALS more often than not, the in the grand scheme of it all.
Yet – nobody gives a second fuck about it…because it is unbelievable right? It only happens to people on TV or in a different state than ours, right? Sadly, anyone you see in the news with similar stories is only even shown on the news because something irreversibly tragic and impossible to sweep under a carpet somewhere has happened to that person’s child(ren). I would love it if someone – ANYONE – could successfully show me any form of lasting justice in the Juvenile Court System, nationwide. I search and search these days for any documentation that sways an opinion in the direction of such a notion; one thought of Boo, and my blood starts to boil, naturally. Yes – Boo has FINALLY seen a small piece of the justice due after the Living Hell that she has been forced endure for the last SIX PLUS YEARS…but it’s hardly enough.
Notably, these crucial and trying years have been spent being forcibly separated from each other by the very same individuals and agencies that set Boo on top of the burner to begin with all that time ago. Notably, the tragic and disgustingly long line of events that have transpired as direct (and indirect) results of the Judge as well as the local DFCS’ initial fuck-ups through Failure to Protect/Failure to Act/Failure to Follow Procedure continues to be swept aside to all corners by every “professional” involved. Notably, anybody with any empowerment to have helped Boo receive said justice when it still might have meant something to her – as a child victim to a Pedophile on the county Payroll – has opted NOT to exercise such powers in the sake of a child’s fundamental human rights to be unmolested while under the COURT ORDERED “care” of an institution.

No Pockets.

Loose! – – –
the arrows fly,
there is no escaping –
this aim of mine;
I’ve practiced for centuries,
amidst many miserable lives,
there is no escaping –
the poison I’ve bled
into these darts that I let fly;
they say that our last garment –
is sewn pocketless,
I noticed no pockets,
forged in the design –
of your chosen, slutty dress;
and all that shitjob poser,
pucker, picturesque,
glam/geek this week –
photo-shopped, clipped
and chopped to death;
but see – none of that,
changes the sobering fact,
that you have already slipped –
and there’s no coming back;
yes girl, indeed,
you have your abilities,
to pretend to mend the broken,
and then leave them –
begging on their knees,
but I have my own charms –
tucked beneath either arm,
that easily outdo your own –
be smart,
don’t start –
tuck your tail
and get on home;
you don’t want,
to cross this stream,
and if you do,
then you’re full crazy –
it’s best you look,
a little more closely,
at all the things,
you know of me,
at the things that you –
want to steal from me.

Woke Up Wrong.

My Saturday has gotten off to quite the shitty start so far:

1) Before I even had my coffee, my dumbass roommate decided to pop out and scare the fuck out of me – rendering me startled and angry before I even had my wits about me for the day. (The affected throat chop that he received has left heavy tension lingering in the cool morning air, as a result).
2) The remaining female Society Finches (Chewy, Fet, The Crown and Bobo) are still screaming non-stop (going on like ten consecutive days now) and my head is about to explode from the noise.
3) I have people calling my phone before it even hits 9am.
4) I am scheduled to see my mother in about an hour from now.
5) I will be forced to hole up in my room for the remainder of the weekend that I spend at home because my fucking dense roommate has pissed me off – – – AGAIN.
6) The sense of laziness that permeates here during the weekends drives me up the walls: granted, yes you worked all week too…but for fuck’s sake Dude – get off your fat ass and do SOMETHING besides sit on the couch, for once.
7) If I hear the opening theme to Bones, or that stupid ass sample from the 70’s that my roommate seems to think is the best sound ever made, even one more time – KABOOM.

Necrotomorph.

I’m writing it out…
finally writing about:
the plague that has come;
quite a while ago,
a few decades or so,
and already
infected everyone.
See, it first started,
to tickle,
at the hairline;
only to dig its way
into my bloodstream
with time…
all while the doctors
had their eyes on me,
the plague crept in
so surreptitiously…
they never failed
to unveil
such wisdom
so fucking blindly…
in the meantime,
this struggling
heart of mine –
became infected
thoroughly.
Clean epidermis,
a futile war…
when there’s
no surface
on your skin
anymore;
though try as you like
to scrub and slough…
truth is, I’m filthy –
you’re filthy;
and ‘clean’ is a joke.
I will never find out
how the plague
came about…
truth, for me
is a delicacy
that I must do
without.
Everyone said:
“oh no, it’s in your head.”
they sold me
on pills in the closet,
instead…
and while I was silenced
by the pharmacy
the plague
was busy
mimicking
my own biology.
Years went by,
disintegrated,
now am I…
stardust-carbon
that has been
manipulated;
shredded fine
these spiraling cells
are no longer mine;
they now belong to
a modified
nano-brew.

Postcards From Freedom! *A Population Study*

POPULATION:     Not Enough.

POPULATION:
Not Enough.

D is for Dissociation.

Dissociation:
The word, alone, conjures up images of schizophrenic women huddling in corners, whispering to themselves, insane – completely detached from any reality that any observer may live inside of…I always default back to the book I read during my time in the Girls’ Ranch when I was fourteen about a survivor of ritualistic childhood trauma, the only way this creature was able to survive at all was through dissociation – to the point of losing herself somewhere within its comforts along the way.
I am not a childhood trauma survivor; I cannot emphasize enough – my unwavering admiration and respect and awe of this type of survivor, though it deeply hurts my heart that they even exist at all as a face of Survival…
Children…Children = whatever hope we have left as a species…the cycle of abusing them is in dire need of a screeching halt caused by our own feet sticking firmly in the ground and demanding it. The damage it causes is creating an unseen evolution in our entire species – RECOGNIZE.
Dissociation is a psychological coping mechanism that is often utilized by children in traumatizing situations from which they are unable to physically escape to safety. It is also commonly seen in “battered women” with the same inability. I became very intimately familiar with this form of mental escapism as a means of physical survival during my marriage to a psychopathic murderer; it was, in my opinion, the very most important tool that I used throughout the entirety of my living nightmare – it enabled me to survive.
Despite my very personal experiences with dissociation and the execution of its use in my own past, over the decade in between then and now, I have been successful in learning to keep its use from creeping so far into my daily existence that it throttles out the original “me” with traits that define the “me” who I essentially created back then to be stronger, to be the protector, to be the survivor, to be the primordial. I believe this has ONLY been possible for me due to the fact that dissociation did not become a mechanism of mine until I was a young adult in a tragic situation; I am also able to see very clearly: the hairline fractures left in my soul from its presence in my life for a short time. It’s as a direct result of my own experiences with dissociation, that I am able to readily bleed for anyone who I happen upon that continues to dissociate as an adult – man or woman. The root cause of this psychological affect is so horrible and full of helplessness and hopelessness that it’s difficult to even put into words – what must cause an adult to retract into la-la land as a means self-preservation…I can tell you whatever it is, will be anything but a simple “fix”.
The purpose behind this post is not to sway any opinions by any means, if you are a judgmental ass – I can’t change you…but it really bothers me when I am reading things that are spilled out of a heart belonging to someone who has obviously been through some serious shit – only to follow it up by reading mean-spirited and heartless bullshit in the comments section left from some jackass douche-bag with a quarter brain cell. When you have the capacity to go out of your way to talk shit to a stranger in obvious emotional turmoil, what does that say about what the fuck you REALLY are at the end of the day? Chew on that, please. I’m sorry that you have an emotionally unstable and troubled ex-girlfriend who happened to manifest her own demons by fucking your friends behind your weaselly back, but that doesn’t automatically chalk up the word dissociation with her and her behaviors that you experienced. DO SOME HOMEWORK before you publicize your complete lack of knowledge and//or humanity, if such is not your intention. You reek of stupidity and weakness. Seriously, I’m embarrassed for you upon reading such garbage you see fit to leave scattered across places of healing energy. You should be ashamed of yourselves, every last one of you. Let me ask you – any of you shallow mother fuckers that troll to talk shit:

Does anyone here actually believe that an adult would purposely or intentionally CHOOSE to have to escape reality in order to deal with it? REALLY???

This is what’s wrong with everything, you blind fucks!!! YOU.

I Got Your Opportunity RIGHT HERE, Bitch.

“Why don’t you just come over here and watch a movie with me?”

The bitch in me answered aloud in response as I read the text message:

“Because I don’t really feel like becoming your piece of ass for the night, you Narcissistic Fuck…”

Instead of responding with such truths, I instead opted to wait for over an hour before finally replying with:

“I’m good. Thanks.”

The Opportunist doesn’t give up easily when he wants to prove a point to himself; I know this about him, I know him well – we lived together for over a year not long ago, me and him…I believe that he has already somehow managed to forget this reality as a mechanism of his Narcissism; which is okay with me because it only reaffirms everything I have already concluded about who he turned out to be. It confirms the fact that despite everything I once poured into the Opportunist, in his mind – I remain as nothing more than the expendable naked body in his cold bed at night when he’s lonely.
Don’t get me wrong, I am certain that during our time “together”, he was not fucking other women – I know where he slept every night back then. This was pretty much another factor that hurt me deeply at the end of our time “together”, the realization that after being with (only) me for such a chunk of time, he was so able and willing to just pack up and move on without a second thought when he DID decide to fuck someone else. I do not have a drama-queen bone in my body, truly. So when this all went down in flames, I did what I always do when I get abandoned: swallowed down my pain and stepped into the blaze to walk myself through it somehow.
There were no late night call to him, begging him to come back or to see me…there were no discussions with his best friends (who I happen to be closely tied in various contexts) behind his back about what a piece of shit he is…there were no plans to sabotage his newly rekindled love affair with his despicable ex (who just got out of Club Fed for Corporate Fraud). There was just TRUTH. That’s all there is left between me and the Opportunist any more, is the ugly truth of what he is at the end of the day, every day.
I did not ask him to give me this courtesy; I would have (sadly, but in truth) been okay with continuing the bullshit façade that we had going because I have abandonment issues and they affect my love life in these fucked up ways…but he opted to show his ugly face to me…and I had to respond accordingly a that point. He left me no options on that score. We have been apart now for over six months, without contact until recently when he dropped out of nowhere with apologies and offerings; batting his crystal blue eyes with long lashes at me because he knows my weaknesses and he plays on them to an obvious degree.
I am smarter than that; is all I can think of to say to him, after all. I am bigger than that, and deserve much more than to be a meaningless piece of ass. That’s about all I know for sure when it comes to the Opportunist these days. I have recognized.

Just.

Haven’t you noticed?
There’s no light on inside;
Just a pirated, drifting vessel…
On a map that is preoccupied.
Doesn’t it occur to you?
That the twinkle is gone from my eyes;
Just two dulled down, blue marbles…
Attached to nothing on their’ other sides.
Has it never bothered you?
When it’s so quiet where I once sat;
Just an empty, overstuffed recliner…
You don’t even think twice about that.
Aren’t there days when you resurface?
To realize you never left the shallow end;
Just the guilt eating, gnawing away…
And you’re too overcome to pretend.
Don’t you feel sorry every day?
That you see me without my smile;
Just an empty expression, hollow eyed…
Can’t forget the pain for even a little while.
Aren’t you aware on some level?
Of the ways that you’ve crossed over me;
Just a self-absorbed, oblivious mutant…
So clueless to the ways of TRUE humanity.
Haven’t you already seen me?
For the woman I actually am;
Just dimes of dozens, dingbat ‘play things’…
Tell me that you are, after all – no REAL man.
Didn’t you hear my warnings?
And didn’t choose to take heed to my cries;
Just stood there pretending, ignoring…
The Fucking Truth gouging out both your eyes.

Comes Around.

You don’t know what my tears taste like;

Because your lips do not catch their’ fall,

And your tendency to judge my actions –

Well, you’re no one to judge me at all.

You don’t know what I’ve been through;

I don’t care where you think you’ve been,

As soon as you’ve perfected your own shit –

Maybe, come back and talk to me then.

I don’t need anyone’s bullshit approval;

And I most certainly wasn’t looking for yours,

I know who I am, against your presumptions –

I represent steps that you’ve never taken before.

People like you; seem to shrink when compared to:

Anyone with even half of a beating heart,

I’m not sure why it shines so sure from your eyes –

A slice of true humanity would break you apart.

Please keep that ugly face from my scenery;

If you have the slightest hint of a clue,

Regarding how much I despise – the falseness and lies –

Take heed now, if you know what’s good for you.

Because one day, you will taste my teardrops;

You will feel the depths of this grief,

Despite all of your efforts at destruction and doom –

Silly you, someday your reflection will be me.

Time.

A perfect example of what I mean when I say that “Father Time’s not on my side” is today’s fucked up tangle with The Opportunist.
The Opportunist was obviously feeling lonely in the rain at home and decided that he’d try me. The reason why he felt like it was okay to contact me (despite my crystal clear instructions in the past on this issue; as in, I told him to flat out lose my number the last time he tried to text me, six + months ago) is simple: Time.
The Opportunist apparently feels that enough time has passed now for me to have forgotten who he turned out to be – how shit ended between us – and the fact that he trampled my super-high-risk heart knowingly. The Opportunist was someone SO VERY CLOSE TO ME, that he knew all of the intricacies that have molded ME – everything. And still, in order to climb his way higher up, he stepped on my head and kicked me off the ladder in the end. He really fucked with my head there for a while, really hurt me on a human level. And…I can’t even get myself started when it comes to the abandonment attached to this man (thing)…the vulnerabilities I endured to get close to him, to let him in…he fucked me up, yes.
But the thing is, that Father Time hates me…and doesn’t give me the comforts that he affords most people in terms of his nature, no; he doesn’t heal me; never has and never will. Father Time and I don’t get along so well, little does The Opportunist realize. I forget nothing. He sent me a slew of text messages all throughout the afternoon today, obviously in the grips of some manic episode of his own; but that’s not my problem either. I finally replied… once, and his texts abruptly ceased to come through.

The last one he sent was,

“Hopefully, you’ll let me put a smile back into your life without any extra stress…”

To which, I simply replied,

“You stole my smile.”

And that was that.

Why???

Oh my fuck. Why? Why?

Ugggghhhhhh! Why?

Does Anyone Remember “The Opportunist”:

https://americanainjustica.wordpress.com/2014/05/21/rubbish/

https://americanainjustica.wordpress.com/2014/05/29/on-this-door-the-opportunist-knocks/

https://americanainjustica.wordpress.com/2014/04/13/do-not-mistake-my-weakness-for-kindness/

So I just received a text from him – out of the clear blue – after over six months of not a single word – that says:

Bambi,

I don’t know if you still hate me or not. I wish you didn’t. I think about you all the time. I’m so sorry for the way shit went down between us. You made me very happy while we were “together”. I should have told you more about what was going on in my life back then so that you didn’t have to draw your conclusions. So-and-so and I were just friends, still…and nothing else was ever going on between us like I’ve been told you were thinking. I should have reassured you when you asked me to and I’m sorry. I hope you are well.

Opportunist

WTF???!!

Burn.

Fallen.

Fallen.

The one thing that I ask for this year,
Would be to just myself, completely disappear –
Somewhere quiet and cold, without a single memory to fear.

Wishes don’t come true, Blind One.

No trace of the paces I’ve left behind,
No bet to reset the mouse wheel inside my mind –
No way to lose or find myself – solitude of the most intrusive kind.

Truths aren’t acceptable, Lone One.

I’ll show myself the things I used to love,
I’ll sport my old jeans that still fit like a glove –
Maybe I’ll drink ‘til the bottle is all I can think of…

Acceptance can’t be lit on fire, Drunken One.

Maybe I’ll run for the tree line,
Sprinting and screaming like I’ve lost my mind –
Cry until my tears don’t sting – make the horizon mine.

Fire won’t burn the ice off your heart, Broken One.

Ummmm, Maybe You’re Just a Self-Absorbed Bitch…

ANYONE who reads my stuff knows good and well that I’m not, and NEVER HAVE BEEN on the “Trigger Train”, and don’t apologize for my lack of the huge billboard at the front of each post that warns potential readers about “triggers” inside…so,shoot me. I’ve always felt like we’re all adults here – if you read something you feel uncomfortable about…gtfo…it really is that simple. It works in my case, also. SIMPLE.

But nothing can EVER just be simple, I guess…

Today, I have been bombarded with private reactions and responses surrounding the piece called ‘Over’ that I posted on my blog.

Wink Wink to my girls who would’ve, naturally, instantly feel the energies that I conveyed through this particular ink of mine (and did).

PLEASE NOTE:

Domestic Violence is a topic that hits me right in the safe haven of “Home”; even so long since the last time I had any part of it. I know firsthand how very REAL it is, and how widespread and socially enabled it’s murderous and terroristic stronghold has remained, while our species makes such huge strides in every other area, it seems. Domestic Captivity, Bullying, Terroristic Behaviors, Financial & Psychological Manipulation techniques such as ‘Gaslighting’ are all different elements of Abuse that define my own traumatic experience as a Survivor of near-fatal violence

My intention behind this ink had been to make a written post along with it, in the spirit of the general message I was trying to express (I am not an artist, and I only create images as a means of therapeutic relief – so they often do not necessarily depict a real circumstance: they are 80% visually or verbally metaphoric. My inks are embedded with symbols and words that harbor meaning to me at the time that I made them; and some are as old as the gold where my lower-right bicuspid once was…pretty damned old).

It was late; and I was doing the “high speed wobbles” in front of my keyboard, and eventually knocked out – sitting up… once again. FML

Anyway – – – The second half of the ink’s message was the driving force behind any emphasis that I was meaning to put out there into the blogosphere, if any at all: Domestic Captivity is OVER for ME…but JUST me, and that’s NOT GOOD ENOUGH.

WTF did it take for my captivity to be “over, anyway? It’s not as if I literally just woke up morning, wrapped a blanket around my broken body, busted out of my chains, and walked slowly away – even stopping to look back, ponderously… come on!!! I am sorry that upset some of the people who read my blog or happened to see my artwork (of MYSELF, by the way: the blonde, boy hair gives it away every time!)…I was by no means rubbing my freedom and survival in anyone’s face, especially if they are still unable to claim this freedom from Domestic Abuse and Captivity…THAT IS NOT MY STYLE AT ALL. If that is what you perceived somehow, all I can do is tell you that perception is inaccurate and apologize for any confusion surrounding the intentions of, and/or meaning behind – the piece of artwork that I posted last night called “Over.”

In real-time, I’m not a talker – I’m a doer; I’m not going to go on and on about this topic but I will close this up by reminding anyone who happens to be reading this of something crucial to any type of understanding between the writer and reader:

I’m NOT here to hurt anyone or play fucked up sociopathic online Blogger head games; that said, I am also NOT here to gain approval or head nods from a single one of you – – – (admittedly though, the comradery that I have here with a handful of kindred spirits DOES carry a certain level of weight with me, but oddly not a single ONE of those people had any kind of issue with “Over.”)

Hmmmmmmmm……….

The Differences Between us

Americana Injustica

enemy

 

 

I once believed in my fellow human being – the same kind of human being as the kind that I am:  a creature that is fully capable and often willing to lay importance at the feet of anything outside of itself, genuine in the spirits of kindness and empathy. I used to have faith of embarrassing depths in the notion that most, if not all, other people I knew were hardwired to perceive something as seemingly innate as the consideration of needs belonging to those besides ourselves. I have learned in the hardest of ways, however, that the vast majority of so-called humans, are in stark contrast to the type of human being that I remain. When I use the word “remain” to describe the way I feel about the obvious differences between me and 9 out of 10 people that I know, it’s meant to…

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