Kill Switch.

You touch me here;
I’ll touch you there;
I’ll close my eyes,
and you disappear;
this is my heart,
you Fucking Liar;
you said you wouldn’t
go any fucking where.

I’ll tell you this;
you’ll tell me that –
I’ll turn a cheek,
to the bullshit you spat;
so casually envenomed,
in your whispered chit-chat;
you blessed me by leaving,
what do you think of that?

I blow your mind;
you blow all of my money;
It kills me the way,
Life treats me so funny;
While I spend my dime,
to have you gobble my time,
you treat me like I must be,
a dingbat named ‘Bambi’ or ‘Bunny’.

You’ll chase after me;
and I’ll run away;
Don’t all “relationships”,
start and finish this way?
When all’s said and done,
at the end of the day;
Just hit the kill switch,
be quick – and walk away.

Valentine’s Day, Again.

VD-35

So…I know that I historically lose a few followers every year for my opinions surrounding this stupid-ass “holiday“; and no, nothing’s changed.

I still think it is a pathetic show of disregard for HISTORICAL TRUTH/ACCURACY put forth especially well by my very own country men and women. It continues to be a bad representation on a humanitarian level, the very concept of it is still lacking in scruples, and the fact that so many people take it so seriously is truly disturbing to me.

In any case, because everyone insists on celebrating this warped and poorly evolved “holiday“, even now – after all this time, I say let’s celebrate it the right fucking way, at least.

Saint V was executed by the Pope for refusing to fall in line with notions that he disagreed with on a fundamental level of his own spirituality and individual relationship with God. This man went to a horrible death for what he believed to be that God’s will, in contrast to the over-imposing standard of the Vatican of his era. Modern day human beings are inarguably a shallow lot then, aren’t we? We are certainly shallow and self-absorbed enough to enable and foster the perpetuation of such an all-around bullshit “holiday” on our calendars; shallow enough to desire such a day for ourselves every year; shallow enough to be spending money on sweets and jewelry, eating over-priced candle-lit dinners, and essentially shitting all over the barbaric TRUTH behind the origins of why this date is considered to be historically notable. Such a hideously shameful display it all is; and so disrespectful to the dead guy who gave this “holiday” it’s name…but, that’s just my opinion.

Shallow Roots

karma is as karma does“Oh my God! You live with Him?” her voice naturally lowered itself upon her own realization of how “teenaged girl” she was behaving; I couldn’t help but to roll my eyes and nod at her typical reaction.

“Yes…right next door…I even see him nearly naked on a daily basis…” I continued my speedy pace towards my newest roommate, “the Orphan”, where he sat in the shade under a tree on the side of the busy streets of the local Farmer’s Market.

“Okay, try to control yourself, Chica…he’s very timid, despite his gorgeousness…go easy on the lil’ guy…”my voice trails off as my cousin and I approach the Orphan’s position, and I inhale a deep breath to begin my introductions so that she might just go on about her business and leave he and I in peace to mosey the marketplace.

Her hand shoots out across the center of our tiny crowd of three before I can finish my first sentence – the one that would have included what a dumbass she is, if I had been obliged – and she begins to take off on one of her notorious tangents about how awesome she is. I can see the “deer come into the headlights” immediately from the corner of my left eye, where the Orphan stands, shocked like a hunted beast in the netting, his curious nature being nearly overtaken by over-stimulus of the most uncomfortable kinds for a person like him.

“Chris, listen…he doesn’t speak English so well,” (a total line of fabricated reality, as his English vocabulary and conversational skill often gets me up on my own toes…) “how would you like it if you were visiting a foreign place and some totally hot guy came up and bombarded you with words you couldn’t quite process…?” I see the smirk of disgusted recognition disappear just as quickly as it had appeared from the Orphan’s face to my side; I hear my cousin let out a long, frustrated breath as she pulls my arm, forcing me to step once to my right. She hisses into my ear and it feels as if someone is holding an acetylene torch to it as she says, “I don’t care if he speaks English…I just like how good he looks, Bambi….C’mon, you’re messin’ up my cha-cha…”.

She releases my arm and pushes me gently away from her and the Orphan as if to tell me to kick rocks, which I happily did – I know something she doesn’t know.

It only takes about a minute and half before he catches up to me on the trail towards our neck of the little woods where we live; he is smiling broadly and looking content. I say, “I knew you could handle yourself…”

He smiled the entire way home.

A Peasant’s Point of View

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I mind my own business; and when I don’t, it’s almost unfailingly in an attempt to try and sway an opinion in the direction of something I consider to be a worthy cause. Otherwise, it’s totally my nature to keep my head down and work on my own shit – easily block out the presence of others around me. I have nearly perfected the art of this: buzzing a loud noise directly through and across the existence of anyone else around me, in attempt to blend them in with background noise of the world around me. I’ve done this since childhood, perhaps as a coping mechanism to guide a lone little girl through a world of her chauvinistic, harsh pack of male wolves, who knows?
Anyway, the older I become this ability fades away – despite my heightened need for its effects; forcing me to have to deal with the noise of these people – people who would undoubtedly be shut-out by my buzz in past times. I’ve been forced to listen to their mess, my ears and mind assailed by the menial bullshit that such people consider as “problems” in their sugar-coated lives. It’s really hard on me, and I guess that bothers me in itself because what does that say about the shallow depths of my heart, in my creature.
I live with two people who have been spoon fed goodness since the days they were each born into a shiny, happy world full of promise and sunshine. Each was the first born in his family; each has the proverbial, doting mother who’s clueless to the ways of the Real World, and they both also have the patriarchal, idiot father in whom the family only “respects” for his pocket-book. Neither of my roommates has ever had to be without. Ever.
Their moms call them daily, and talk about shit that is irrelevant to everyone involved, including loads of slander surrounding other siblings and family members; their dads agree to help them do their taxes for free (and then end up paying the taxes and the late fees because of “memory loss”). Their siblings look up to them and treat them as if they are Apollo or whatever, further enabling the facade of importance and worth in the Real World. In both cases, this particular type of sibling idolization stems from the lies the parents have told the children all along about each child’s worth in the world, naturally creating a losing power struggle for the younger ones. They both did the six year college plan – and Mommy and Daddy footed the bill (which was inarguably a fuckload of money in each case); neither one graduated with a degree (which summarizes well, what they spent their six consecutive college years doing). Never the less, the place I live in once belonged to the well-to-do parents of one of them, in the days prior to his return from college, with no diploma. Still, here we are – they gave him the house anyway – I guess they feel like he earned it after partying so hard all those years in college, I don’t know.
The other one who rents one of the other wings, er – um, I mean “rooms” here is just as spoiled rotten in lifestyle, if not more extreme. He is the one who’s fucking despicable bitch girlfriend just got out of Club Fed for white collar crime; need I say more? What kind of thing steals from a corporation to the extent of millions of dollars and actually thinks they’ve succeeded in this day and age, anyway?
I have been stuck playing Mommy to the bitch’s high-maintenance little rat dogs that bark constantly for over a year now – yeah, I said a year…that’s all that happens to you when you rob someone blind, as long as you have money to get yourself out of trouble with the law – even if it’s stolen money…as long as they can’t trace it – the bitch makes me want to vomit. Literally.
Once, I sat in my room and listened to my roommates as they visited with an old college buddy who had dropped in to visit. They were all comparing the value of the estates that they had to look forward to receiving upon the collective deaths of their parents…a conversation that still gives me goose bumps to think about. Would I do the same if I had parents with fuckloads of money? Would I have grown up to be that same variation of the human species? Does ease in life and lots of money really make that much a difference in the psychological realm of existence? I suppose the answer is yes. This reality disgusts me even more than being poor does.