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.

Skeleton.

Why dont you just finally,
Twist the knife you’ve stuck in me,
Watch the life drain out of me,
And wash your hands until they bleed?


All the pain you’ve given me,
Can finally drain away with ease,
But I can’t sustain this injury,
While you maintain the olive tree.


Cant you find the subtlety,
Of disinclined humanity,
To tow the line reluctantly,
As far as it can get from me?


A thing living opportunistically,
Too weakened by your own recovery,
A wisdom lost on all who see,
The lies of a wise sobriety.


If there’s a real bone in your skeleton,
Any semblance of what is a gentlman,
Any scrap of yourself that is genuine,
This appeal has been sent to him.

Tainted.

To know that it’s true,
This knowledge, so new,
To recognize what I’ve been trying not to.
To harbor not a single doubt,
Surrounding all that I’ve found out,
The clout they’ve always given you.
A thing so lowly and despicable,
Goes right along with how you roll,
It’s pathetic but not a shocking truth.
The shock may be in another truth,
One I’ll share in turn with you,
How that stupid choice has leaked on through.
How from now on no REAL WOMAN can respect,
Such a tainted by baby-talk dialect,
No righteous woman will want to touch you.
So you’re stuck forever in the land of STD’s,
Though I must say, it fits your mentality,
You’re fucking 40, and she’s 22.

Opportunicus.

Hello, don’t offer me the soured Nothings,

oh no, don’t start defending the filthy,

there’s a ring to a man doing little boy things,

there’s a sting in the shiftiness underlying…

 

Ergo, don’t bother with empty apologies,

hell no, don’t think you’ll get the luxury,

there’s an emphasis to all of this unhealthiness,

there’s a trumpeted sad truth quite clearly…

 

hello, it’s me – that glutton for your absurdity,

hell no, I can’t call you a man any more than I am,

there’s a truth to be told between you and me,

there’s a ghost to behold within its delivery.

 

The Empath and The Opportunist – Continued.

He is carrying on about the business; about profit and loss…I am sitting here across the table from him, wondering why the Hell I even have anything, much less such a co-dependent kinda thing, with this fucking guy of all people.

His father just died, after a long and trying illness, he is sad and needy right now; yet, he only wants to talk business, as usual. Whatever dude…let me print out a P & L and we will comb the fucking books then, fine with me.

Men are so puzzling this way: so likened to a fucking light switch when it comes to using the experiences we have in life as a means of enriching our relationships with each other. They don’t know how to approach it, they just kill the whole operation; they can’t figure it out, they just tune it out; they can’t accurately compartmentalize it, they simply pretend it isn’t there.

Men seem just as happy (or so they like to believe) with stuffing it all down until they are no longer capable of stuffing. And then: Ka-Boom. Right?

This particular man has the capacity to say the right things and do them too, when it might suit his fancy for whatever reasons…but, those times hardly ever overlap with my own times of receptiveness these days, after all that’s passed between us. He has that shit-eating smile that can stop traffic from across the street; but he also happens to be one of the very last people I would ever lean on for any reason – as I have learned the lesson in his case that I will fall the fuck over, should I lean even the slightest bit on him. He always said he loved me because I am “built with so much substance” and am “so deep of a person”, and the reason he thinks he “loves” this about me is because he lacks these things completely. He sings such horseshit as “stability” and “security” (please note: he straight the fuck up tossed me like last week’s milk like two years ago and badly broke my heart), while sporting me on an arm that he can detach from his shoulder at any time via some hidden release mechanism. I am honest with him about how I can’t and never could again – trust him on the levels that matter (to me, at least)…he seems to care less. I don’t sleep with him any more either, and haven’t for almost two years, so he knows that I’m not just talking shit. Whatever, let’s file a tax voucher instead.

It’s Nothing.

You aren’t afraid of the blue in my eyes,
like I have no fear of that flash of your grin;
You have no problem with keeping the flow,
I have no problem putting out the rhythm.
Your ways never cease to amaze me,
and I never fail to let you come in;
You never wait to plunder my riches,
I never fail to invite you back again.
Yours isn’t a story all that sad to tell,
mine is just too bad to talk about;
Ours is just a sweaty, naked one,
with no dialogue to be written out.
You aren’t put off by the only way that I love,
I’m never offended by the lack on your end;
You never care when I don’t show up,
I am never forced to lie or pretend.
You are so wholesome and pure to the brim,
I am just non-bio-degradable pond-scum;
so it goes, this show of such voided hollow,
until we’ve both found ourselves outdone.

The Empath and The Opportunist (Still Going).

Last night I had a “date”; not really like a date, because it wasn’t a new person and I didn’t go anywhere…okay, last night I spent time with the Opportunist because I was lonely and emotionally weakened by recent life events.
I shouldn’t have even looked at my phone yesterday at all based on my state of mind over my daughter, but hey – old habits die hard I guess.
He texted me some smart ass remark how nice my ass is out of the clear blue at like 7:30am though, so it was kinda hard to ignore; not to mention the fuckin’ guy’s timing…he must have a sensor of some kind that tells him when my guard is down or whatever, because he pops up without fail (as a good opportunist only should) when I am weak.
Anyway, so yeah…he ended up coming over and we watched Gunslingers and some lame show about gold mining in the arctic or some whack shit. I gave him whatever opportunities he needed last night…and that was that. He says I need to “work on my people skills”…that being asked to get dressed and go home after sex would be highly offensive most guys and I’m “lucky he knows where I’m coming from”…I guess it was always like that between us – even when we lived together, I slept separately at night because I wanted to.
In summary, having a “date” with the opportunist last night only re-affirmed how well-suited someone so shallow is for me at present…because I am still an emotional and social train-wreck, apparently.

Teachers.

your-best-teacher-last-mistake-life-quotes-sayings-pictures

The Misidentified:
a Blood Eagle Rite;
a person who hides
behind
an opaque web of lies.

The Egotistical:
a Wolf in Sheep’s wool;
a person who is cruel
a fool
that never learned in school.

The Dishonest:
a Forged Document;
a person who spreads
darkness
and vomits resentment.
The Opportunist:
Never a Chance missed;
a person waiting in secret
focused
on the potential stumble in a step.

The Self-Designated:
the Power and the Glory, faded;
a person who is motivated
over-rated
by a harem blindly cultivated.

The Self-Assured:
The Most Boring Tale Ever Heard;
a person who is falsely secured
by words
as solid as the bridges burned.

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.

TwiLight Zoned.

This weekend has been rather odd, to say the least…
My Twilight Zone Weekender technically began on Thursday – when the Opportunist sent me a super out-of-the-blue succession of “apologetic” (narcissistic and self-serving attempts at control) text messages; and it only got more strange and fucking out there as the weekend rolled on.
Friday, my doctors told me that my heart is technically failing; “but it’s a lot more scary sounding than it actually is…” my thing regarding the failure of my heart is simple: my father, a Nam Vet – a tough, tough guy – a survivor in his own right – was dropped dead by Congestive Heart Failure when I was thirteen years old, he was 42…I’m now 35 ½ years old. Dun dun dun!!! Anyway, despite the fact that I have lived through the most extreme of the extreme in terms of medical procedures and what not, the heart thing terrifies me. And so the journey through mindphuq – bodyfuq began.
Saturday morning, my heart woke me up again; hurting…hammering…stealing my breaths from my lungs and forcing my body temperature to freeze, inappropriately. I was sick several times during the early morning hours; but then the nausea subsided, and my right shoulder/chest began to throb and stab at its own insides, instead. I gave up the uncomfortable tosses and turns around 7:00am, and rolled out of bed to the unwelcome change-in-routine of ‘no coffee’. I was queasy, so ‘no coffee’ wasn’t so bad after all.
I was stupid enough to open a letter I’d received the night before from Boo; a feat in itself, seeing as how I normally create a huge issue over (my own bullshit psychological road-blocks) before pretty much forcing myself to begrudgingly rip open the envelope covered in her teenaged girl bubble letters, hearts, and arrows. I don’t know why I didn’t experience this inner-boxing match with this letter, but either way – I opened yesterday’s letter without a second thought for the most part…it’s been so long since I had any interaction with Boo at all; I guess I was just hungry for her words – no matter venomous or otherwise. Her letter was likely one of the most hollowing I’ve received from her since her return to the facility where she is caged out of state; she is so detached and dissociated – going through the motions – writing the letter she thinks she is supposed to write…she’s so sad and depressed and says several times that she misses me; she talks about how she’s been on lock down for over a week because of the illegal actions of other girls who reside there.
Getting mail from Boo is always a chop to my windpipe; I admit that I have so much anxiety surrounding her upcoming 18th birthday in May that I sometimes feel like I literally might spontaneously combust.
I can say that I have a very deep understanding and respect for the saying: “Being eaten alive by guilt.”
This is why dissociation has become part of my day to day survival, and possibly that of other specific individuals involved in Boo’s tragic experience under the “care” of the Juvenile Courts and the Department of Family & Children’s Services; without “psychological escapism” – I would not be able to survive. That is an unquestionable truth in my Life, as sad and lacking of stability as it may be.
When I think too long about shit regarding Boo, when I get slapped in the face and am reminded so vividly of her pain and suffering – suffering that goes coldly overlooked and disregarded by anyone close enough to reach out and hug her or even just sit with her, even not say fucked up shit to her that makes her questions of herself spin out of control – when I think too long about any of it, my chest feels like it’s caving in, like it’s been sprayed with liquid nitrogen, or my lungs have been sprinkled with solvent – the tissue is dissolving slowly with a chemical burn sting. I was struggling to get my breath; my draws would not allow me to inhale completely without shooting a bolt of lightning through my chest cavity. My shoulder continued to pinch and stab throughout the entirety of the day; I fell asleep with my arm slung up over a body pillow wrapped back over my head, looking and feeling very much like a pretzel. I slept like shit; but woke up with considerably less chest/shoulder pain, and the ability to breathe much easier.

And…today went on to be also oddly out-of-the-ordinary…
I spent the day today with The Opportunist (kind of). The quick run-down behind this circumstance is as follows:

1. It’s Sunday (male chauvinist football day in the U.S.)
2. I live in what would otherwise be a Bachelor Pad, given my absence in the household.
3. The Opportunist and one of my roommates (“The Good Bunkie”) go all the way back to childhood together.

I’m sure you can do the math there.

Apparently, his failed attempts at contacting and connecting with me the other day didn’t fix his monkey; because here he came today, tortilla chips and salsa dips under one arm – and I shit you not – an array of MY very favorite things under the other, ranging from flowering cacti, to flavored rolling papers, to Granddaddy Kush. Wow…I accepted his offerings with a smile and a nod before disappearing into the safety of my hallway that leads me away from the “man cave”, with a stiff “thank you” in passing.
Of course, me being the NON drama queen that I am (and yes, I am bragging…this is one of my favorite things about myself, in comparison to others I know), I never the bombardment of (pretty pathetic) text messages that The Opportunist sent the other day to the Good Bunkie because, well, why would I? He would only feel the need to be defensive for his lifelong friend, and it wouldn’t be a comfortable position for him to be in…so I don’t say shit to him about his lying, opportunistic, shit-talking, two-faced friend. Not my place to do so. Coming from a woman who grew up in a household full of men, boys and – me, you better trust and believe that I know what time it is when it comes to the old “Bros before Hoes” scenario. I don’t stir that pot.
Anyway, my day actually consisted of spending no time with The Opportunist, unless being in the same square footage vicinity counts. He WAS INDEED sitting on my couch all day, watching football…just like old times…but the only way I knew he was here was because once in a while his cry-baby whining voice would drift down the hall into my domain. Otherwise, I spent the day either doing yard work or in my own quarters. But still…a very weird day…a very tiresome weekend.
Tomorrow’s another day, ya’ll.

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???!!

For YOU.

abandon your instincts

 

Why would I want to begrudge or deny – a pair of mended wings?

The only thing I might do, would be to ask you to –

Use them to get you as far as you can from me.

I am not mad about the successes you’ve had – or the future you look ahead for.

The problem you see, is that your healing doesn’t heal me –

On the contrary, I’m somehow emptier than I was before.

 

But these things don’t necessarily mean – that my intentions for you have changed;

I still wish you no less, than the bluest skies and lasting breath –

You’ve confided your struggles and most secret fears and spiritual pain.

Just because the stars don’t glow just for “US” – Life will still go on.

Separate paths will slowly pass – and forgotten belly laughs –

I want you to keep flying further and further, now that you’ve really gone.

 

Clues and Hints

get itBody language gives so much away – that’s why everyone online is so clueless.

The words spelled out all over the screen have become so meaningless.

…’Cause they can’t see that I’m chewing my cheeks and doing the ADHD purse shuffle from near-spontaneous-combustion while they tell lies to me.

They don’t know how intelligent I am because I have a sailor’s mouth and I prefer not to be meek.

They each think that they have something better –  a leg up on me.

Two can keep a secret when one is headed downstream.

 

Hindsight

Image“So, I, uh…found your blog yesterday…” his voice trails off at the lack of my response. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” my irritation must be palpable to him then;

He physically withdrawals before saying, “Tell me….uh, tell me how you feel, all that stuff about m-“

I cut him off before he can finish the final word of the sentence; highly distracted by my own thoughts on a subject having nothing to do with his sorry ass, I say without even looking in his direction, “What the fuck makes you think it’s about you?…Damn get over yourself, already.”

Of course, it was about him; and he knows this – because he knows what we’ve gone through and there’s no mistaking the details I written.

He makes an all-too-familiar face that looks like he just swallowed an entire peeled lemon with holes in it; and starts to shake his fat head at me in his typical, condescending way: his way of telling me that he’s smarter than me, and that I don’t know what I’m talking about.

“Whatever, that was then – when I wrote that…”

He breaks in with a matter-of-fact voice and says, “’Then’ was only like a month and a half ago, you know?”

“Oh look who can suddenly count days!” I cannot help myself; I’m fucking childish that way.

 

He waits…patiently, in one of his stuck-up, patriarchal poses that I’m sure he practices in the mirror during moments alone. I am uncomfortable; I do not want him here, nor do I want to discuss these meaningless things with him – I do not want to even know him anymore, wish I never had.

“Who fucking cares?” I stand from the step on the front porch, where I had hesitantly taken my seat moments before, my face is feeling hot and my blood pressure rises like a tidal wave in my veins; I say,

“There’s not a God damned thing in that blog that I didn’t tell you…I told you that shit more than once, as a matter of fact. YOU decided that those things were invalid to YOU, in case you conveniently don’t recall that part of things…”

He shoots a hand up from where he sits to grab my arm as I spin by him towards my front door; his face is pleading, as if he he’s lost or out of gasoline.

“DON’T touch me.” I am not afraid of this fat head; in fact, I am quite certain that despite his extraordinary mass in size and height, I could take him easily – because he is a total fucking pussy. But his touch makes me recoil and think of dark things and bad places – metaphoric of my disgust with myself for ever believing his eloquently constructed, pseudo-village of lies.

ImageI snap my hand away from his, and go inside – hammering the door closed behind me with a loud crack!

His muffled voice expels what I make out as various obscenities through the solid door as he shuffles down the porch and away from me; thank you Gods…thank you. What a varmint…must be nice on the planet he lives on.

Fiend

Image

 

If you remove the letter ‘R’ from the word ‘FRIEND’, your are left with nothing more than a fiend; when you take the trust and endearment out of a circumstance, you often find yourself sitting with a very ugly reality, firmly attached in your wide-open lap.

When you allow your misguided, faulty sense of trust to lead your decisions regarding such an atrocity as ‘fiends posing as friends’, you are inviting a most sobering wake-up from the lobby in the depths of Living Hell; for choices falling this category have the potential to sway the very course of a lifetime.

When you are stupid enough (in a truly pitiful sense) to allow the vultures (your band of two-faced fiends) to circle overhead and give away your position for all to see – without ever even realizing what was happening, you have tattooed a barcode that translates into “ENSLAVED”.

 

On This Door the Opportunist Knocks

Image

Yeah, well – not this environment, not this time, not any more.

The VIP has left the building, Ghost…without you.

 

All else aside, I realize what it’s been that has held me up over this most recent ugliness spewed at me by the presence of a disguised opportunist – previously in very close quarters to my life and heart – I see what has been bothering me so much about it all: it’s the metallic, residual taste of blood in my mouth;

the sobering fact that once someone stings me – once another unwelcome reality punches me in the throat from out of nowhere to remind me that ‘Hey Stupid! You Can’t Trust Anyone Not To Betray You Eventually!’ – I begin to warily pick apart each and every relationship left standing – I grow cynical and defensive and suspicious of the people who haven’t yet abandoned me: my friends and family. I start to do this mindfuck loop in which I question everyone and everything as a direct result of the betrayal of one single maggot who was unworthy from day one…

I don’t care that it’s all over, I am starting to see that the douche bag did me a favor by showing such vivid colors in such undeniable hues; I have already sensed the calm easing its way back into each day from morning to night (no early morning dramatics; no more hours wasted on the equivalent to free therapy sessions beginning with my first cup of coffee); I already feel the tension unwrapping itself from around each eye and loosening its tightly wound grip from my shoulder blades…

Whatever it was, that “thing” I imagined up between us – it had become unhealthy very quickly for me – it stopped feeling good a while back – only felt bad when it felt like anything at all for months leading up to the final breaking point: the day that the line was drawn distinctly in the sand between he and I, permanently.

If they aren’t lifting you up, they’re holding you down…I had ceased to be lifted up any more…

But I knew leading up to that day also, deep down I knew I did not like who he is, what he is – the type of individual that he represents…I knew that, I had already seen and recognized, even communicated that fact to him.

“I don’t like two-faced people…” I declared one morning as he insistently talked shit about somebody who I, personally, happen to love quite fiercely – someone who he is all sugar and spice to in person, face to face. “I hope you know how telling it is that you would say those things about __________, given the circumstances; especially since you have no problem turning around and smiling to his face ten minutes later…”

Image

He somehow assured me way back then that I was wrong about him, about what I saw. But on some level deep down, if I’m being honest here, I have known since that time that he was no good. And I ignored my own instinct in order to suit my own more immediate needs: Human Closeness and Intimacy. How fucked up is that? Because in the end, he totally duped me and walked away snickering, finishing off that last mouthful of cake with victorious gulps…but I have truly learned a few new things from this otherwise worthless and useless exercise:

1) I still have major abandonment issues that I need to deal with.

2) When someone burns me, it burns…and it sets into motion cause and effect whether I like it or not.

3) I am still the Bigger Person, despite all of my efforts not to be.

4) I’m okay with my longstanding sentiment of:

If I am out of line for feeling for another human being (especially after considerable lengths of time in close quarters together), shoot me.

I don’t want to be a mutant human being all shallow and fake as Hell, wtf can I say?

 

Rubbish

I keep stumbling across all of these stupid reminders of the person who I just lost from the rest of my life: someone whose lost presence made things seem better, someone who used to make me laugh every single day, multiple times…someone who was never really was, most likely.

ImageA weathered “missing” crossbow arrow, stuck firmly into a fence post from last summer when this person and myself shot everything and anything we could aim at in the backyard; tiny, yellow, plastic bbs that I still find rolling silently beneath my bare feet in the hallway…echoes of laughter and sunlight and smiles that were unprompted and genuine on my behalf…things that don’t come easily for me with anyone.

A safe in the garage, full of this person’s precious valuables and stacks of money – things this person doesn’t trust to leave with ANYONE or ANYWHERE else; quarts and quarts of “butter” in the refrigerator that I have to get my meals out of every time I get hungry – which isn’t very often any more, anyway, but still…it makes me remember the person who left these things here in comparison to the person who will be coming back to retrieve them: An ugliness that is painful and sour in my belly.

The deep reverberation of sound that resonates within this place’s new emptiness from wall to bare wall; all these plants sprouting up everywhere from the seeds mixed in with the piles of rubbish this person cleared out like the end of a party’s cleaning crew cleans a party hall. Most certainly the end of the party…

Turns out (who knew) that this person is the kind of person who is only honest with you about stuff when you see this person every day – the type who isn’t bothered by being dishonest with someone when there’s little follow up contact to worry about – which is pretty hurtful and sad to me, yes…but not the end of the world as it has been feeling like more recently. I’m tired of being used and tossed away by people because they have some superiority complex that is their own baggage and has nothing to do with me.

I intend to disallow this in my future, and it won’t be easy because I get my own gratifications from the twisted and warped ideas I carry around to strengthen my own ego, ironically. I see that I am in the wrong ballgame, and need to move on to a different field. Not sure which one yet…but one without so many god damned constant reminders of so many ghosts, that’s for sure.

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…