Looping Elton as one would poke Lions with sticks

I'm not one to wrap myself in nostalgia. It doesn't affect me the way it does others considering mine is usually spiked with some PTSD. It probably why I don't dwell on it for too long. I'm not going to compare it to heroin, but it's that one thing that you wonder how someone can do something to themselves and taking any walk into the past, even happier moments usually calls to some deep need to medicate and numb myself to at least sleep long enough. It's why I never was afraid of sleeping pills and hard liquor to get the job right when my own mind can do so much worse.

At the moment, I think I want the strongest amount of alcohol possible. If I had my pain killer bottle I would swallow at least 5 of various colors and sizes to kill that feeling I now associate with having my heart being ripped apart from the inside. Elton has that hold on me, specifically, Someone save my Life with Goodbye Yellow Brick Road at a close second. Something about Elton that just stabs so deeply inside me that reduces me into a wreck. I'm not showing any outside emotion. My survival instinct will never do that, but I am so close to simply sleeping with the bottle.  I want to medicate badly, but I know better now. I have that secure knowledge where if I ever give into it again I will not come out. It's a death sentence that I happened to dance around, but now being somewhat functional without my ultimate armor, I can not help feel that something like this can put me down for good.

Elton.......Elton is that one seal.....of the worse hells that I have ever faced. That release where I can feel myself fall apart inside as an empty echo of terror radiate inside me. It's what remains of sadness, having it implode to a level that I walk with something that feels like a black hole. Elton gives me that strength to embrace suicidal tendencies and simply break down and then apart until I pull myself together to face another day of being made of stone. Elton says it all. What I can never say nor even reduce myself to; asking for help.

I would never die before I ask for help, but I would kill myself willingly with a smile on face then ask for it and Elton will serenade me gently. It's as if I ripped my own heart out than to have it rip itself and every now and then I have to hold it....to remember why I pulled it out.....why without it I can function. I have to hold it to remember why I got rid of it......and then crumble apart....like now.....

It was not a bad day. It was actually a good one, but.......a phantom ache echoes ever so gently that Elton soothes as any handful of opiates would....that peace of not opening one's eyes....and not caring you're gently crying yourself to sleep. I want that now and I know it. I want it now and knowing how much of a bastard I am I will only play Elton for the 8th time and ache.....instead of swallowing what will soothe me. I can't do that, my painful sobriety placed upon myself. This is my last challenge really. To feel pain.......and, not numb....wait.....

"...and there's one more beer and I don't hear you.......any .....more...."

That's the sound of giving up......that will be my last words.....it had been my last words only to wake up screaming on how I am cursed with my grandfather's fortune to evade death and almost shame it. It's my swan song....it's my easy exit.....sneaking out before I allow the shame to fall upon me....fall of the world finally crushing me and not having the strength to flip it off one more fucking time.....I am stubborn, you just never realized that it was what kept me alive all those years.

No memory is without pain....not for me. It spurned me to blaze ahead with nostalgia burning behind me as one would burn ships set for home to resolve to push forward with no reprieve. I hurt.....I'll admit that now. I have to with all the therapy I've had, I have to say I hurt.....I still do not know how it never killed me or how I never realized I die so long ago. Either way, I punish myself in a way and feel all of it......staying away from what numbs me.....no booze....no pills.....no physical pain to boost my endorphins.

Just feel fucking pain. I'm told it's the first step to healing and a grand certificate to prove life.....pain......ha ha.....I'll be ok....no......I don't know if I will be ok....I'll be alive tomorrow as I am now.....just reconnecting......what......repressed shit.....all the slings and arrows I've absorbed....I don't know....just.....ouch......I'd rather be physically hurt....I know how to heal that, much like the first bruises from a loved one in order to hide what they have done.

They're just scars...and I carry them all.....So....just feel it.......*sigh*

Yea......everything has that tinge of pain....never a happy moment.....never......

I'll be ok.....just wanted to document this.....share with you in my small pocket of time and space that I am not made of stone. I am not strong as steel. That I bleed......a lot and frequently......just where you can see it....It's why Elton say the things I can't say. Ever.......

..........going to sleep now....I will be fine, don't worry....when have I been not functional? I'll be there for you....promise....I will....just not now....not here.....

Now, I am broken and you can not reach me.....I lay broken, pained, and will let sleep take me......and you can't touch me.......ever.......as I want it.....ha ha....ha....ha....ha....as I want it....it's the only thing keeping me....*shrugs* I don't know any ....more.....getting better is either going to kill me or heal me, but it's going to do something.
Good night. Hold those you can and love. Remember those we lost and those you can not reach. ha ha.....listen to me good....I'm sleeping with myself tonight.....I think that's why I love to write....you can't stop me....you can't......reach me....you can't touch me....it's all too late....all of it....it happened and when you get to me....it's gone.....

".......safe in time"

I'll be ok tomorrow.....just wanted to show....I don't know....I'm not made of stone....I may not be human, but I am not stone.....

.....why couldn't I just drink again....oh yea.....ha ha.....healing....fun....

The Hell of Trusting

The beginning is always difficult, especially when you know that every mental faculty you have has been conditioned to question, revise, analyze and usually toss out numerous attempts at communication. Perhaps it's because I always lived under the umbrella of stupid, but not just stupid, but a special category of stupid where your brilliance that has never been questioned when you are not present puts you in positions where the birds of your feather usually enter the same situation with a declaration of "hold mah beer...". Maybe it's because I was in a cult where critical thinking was frowned upon for belief, faith, and unquestionable acceptance. It's easy to look back and analyze where I have gone wrong and what situations have caused me to become this amalgamation of mental checks and balances with the possibility of reviewing what was, what could have been and what I could have done if.......

And this is where I am, IF. I'm going to say that the scientific method is one of the most amazing processes of investigation that can foster critical thinking, skepticism, and a healthy appreciation of fact over feelings. Yet it can not help me where I am at the moment. It can not offer any way to out of where I am. It's why I now can say with much difficulty and hard earned work that I trust two individuals and they both are or were my therapist. In a small room that brought me much joy outside of the need to stare out a window and know that I am not trapped in any enclosed place, I do what I have taught myself out of necessity and survival to never do. Here I allow the person who is sitting opposite of me to engage me in difficult conversation as I handicap myself in every way possible to not challenge, question, or analyze their words, choice of vocabulary, body language, eye movement, tone, and overall meaning including between the lines. I hinder myself, as many of you know having dealt with me since my very nature I have to have the answer. You find it annoying. I find it a life-threatening need. I have to have the answers or at least search for them since it's only me between the worst that can, have, and will happen. I have no safety net, backup, nor do I have anyone to bail me out if the world shatters as it has many times. Your annoyance on how relentless I must be to know everything possible is probably one of the deepest scars I have and in essence, it's what holds me together.

Here with this individual far away from the world that I relentlessly save, the same world that crushes me with an indifference that I to this day will always find personal I attempt to do what I can not: trust. Every second phrase I speak is one that betrays me and offers the woman with notepad in hand scratching away insight that I never share with others. I share intent, need, and reasoning.I expose more than I would expose with others, and considering that I have blatantly shared nightmares in many of your times of devastation and woe, if only to show you what many can survive if only you have the will to endure and strive, and shared moments of my life some would only hold dear and share with those of trust, none of this shames me in the least. I am in control. I have even disrobed in front of you and find my body of no importance or intimacy. I've shared sexual escapades and moments that would cause medical doctors to pause.

Yet never out of trust. Only from an abandonment of what most would consider personal. I do this much like one would take their hand and stab a knife between the fingers, in a show of disregard of one's being and no concern for one's safety, as long as I am the one harming myself. It scares many away, as intended and it offers me an open existence, but nothing more.

I exist. Nothing more.

I never trust, so in this room, I expose myself to this other person with more shame and fear than one would reserve for an intimate meeting of a sexual nature. Here I leave myself vulnerable as every instinct, natural and hard earned scream at me to stop. Here I offer another person the opportunity to not only help me but the chance to strike me down in the worst of ways. I do not trust because those who I have ripped apart the part of me that would allow any means of intimacy, bond, or .....I actually don't know what else. So help me, I'm so hindered here I don't know what I lack and it scares me.

I was happy not being human. It makes life easy, but hollow in the way of having something torn from you and only realizing once you discover you don't have the means of being. It's a hell that many of you do not understand and I would never wish upon. If I had ever met someone who suffered my fate I would have offered them a mercy that I always sought. And yet, death never came and I'm living past a point where I should have left you all. Instead, I'm crippled in the worst way and trying to learn how to be at an age where I've gained master above many things. Legends are meant to pass on, not exist past their point where the sacrifices are so blatant that they become a monument of sorrow.

So I expose and remain open until the point that my very nature takes hold of me and raises up defenses to allow me to move on. And yet, I do not medicate. I do not hide away outside of my reluctance to be among you. I sit and I suffer growing pains never felt and fears that haunt me once more. This is the price of trusting someone not among you and have no connection to you.

This is the work I do. This is the hell I face. This is me fighting for a chance to live rather a means of existence.

And now you know.

1057 words. 50 minutes

11/9 or the morning after...I'm not in the mood to make puckish titles.

I woke up around midnight to the sound of helicopters. 

Considering that I have to now adult and get up at 5 am to hit my commute as many of you know I must got to sleep by 9 to be functional. Yet, I was awaken by helicopters and also a realized need for patience. Returning from the bathroom I woke up my laptop and silenced the youtube rain vid that I use to sleep and calculate my time asleep. Insomnia can creep up on me at any point and I more than know I need to be diligent no matter what. 

Always diligent. 

It almost felt as a roar from the outside as if everyone in Lynwood was reacting as I opened up my browser and was notified immediately that Trump won. On a distant tv, I heard him walk over to a podium and announce to the world how this moment has come, we must all unite, and we must bury all hatchets. He offered words of reconciliation and of moving on as people cheered. 

Meanwhile, media exploded.

*coughs from nervous reflex*

Burners cheered and blamed the DNC. Anyone not cis recoiled into the fear, shock, and awe of the moment as many of their loved ones announced that Trump is a good thing and they are happy they voted for him and they'll see, it will be all right. One friend responded by asking, "You voted against my rights?"

You can almost feel the heartbreak in her words. 

I was too busy. I was already there. Already prepared.

welcome back

I continued and prepared. In fact, I've been preparing since before Trump mentioned his bid to run. 

I continued on as my messenger exploded with so many people wondering. So many of them fearful and anxious, trying to get hold of what was going on. What can they do? Some already declaring that they were done with this nation who shows no love for them and only the back of their hand. Others pleading with me, pleading as if I can do something, anything to make this right. 

I haven't heard from my children yet, but I'm guessing they're already prepared for this. They have my eyes. Cold, dead eyes of something that most people have not experienced and have not seen. A knowing that hell exists and it is tangible and it comes from the hand of man using scapegoats to avoid responsibility. I'll hear from them soon, but we are already working. On it. We move while most remain stunned.

Always on, you're always on.....that was our agreement, no?

My motions were automatic, yet there was a new system involved: a body clock telling me I have a half hour at best and then I must sleep. I have to adult, I have to get legit, I have to at least go through the motions to redeem what many believe is my potential and path. I notice the clock and agree and continue to read, look up, and by the end of it all, I know enough. I know what I can do now, what needs to be done soon, what needs to be completed continually. 

I don't pray. I've seen too much. I don't scream, I've done too much. I don't plead, I experienced enough. I don't hide or cry, I know it won't make things better. I move while returning to where I once belonged. Where I live now. Where I am the best at what I do best.

You see me.

I take note who needs the most support and tell them I love them. they need to hear that. Many are close to falling apart. Their chances to be normal almost being released by their own will rather than having them tugged at. I tell them I love them, as I tell them now, as I tell you. 

I love you and we will get through this. I will be on the Front with you in mind. I refuse to go easy and I will fight for our lives. I will not let them win reluctantly. If need so I will make their win bitter. We will get through and we will fight.

I try to believe my words. I try. 

I see you. 

I say try because I have to put in work. X always said you have to put in work and you have to put it in now. DMX of course, not the cult. You have to put in work. When we hope for the best it's because we hope we don't have to get our hands dirty and work. We hope we don't have to. We almost plead with this concept of humanity that allows us to continue on. This spirit of kindness and greater good in which afterschool specials are made of. 

Don't be a bitch, get to work.

I write this now with time in mind. I have to adult. October has been kind and magnificent to me. I've accomplished much. I pulled myself out of any safe space to challenge myself to reach out to you, to humanity instead of prepping for continual Damage Control. I've lived in this state since the 90's. It's my second nature. It keeps me on my toes, looking over my shoulder, always sleeping light for that hard knock on the door. 

We see together, outside and on the same side, where you belong. 

I'm used to Damage Control. I lived through Pete Wilson. I lived through Reagan. I lived through W and regressed so much because so many of you were not prepared. I have no choice. I have had a target on me since I realized I was never included. I had decades of enduring. I've scars that I'd never explain and memories that only a bottle can numb. I'm going to therapy and I'm trying to live, not survive and that in short only makes me want to work more.

I've come too far to stop now. And if I have to drag you bastards to protests, I will. If I have to lecture you to be vigilant, I will. If I have a few more scars by the end of this my only option is to hope they mean something from them, but reactive, but proactive. I'm not going to remind you of what is in risk, who is endangering it, and what we are fighting for. 

You should now that by now. That and no one will care if you give it up. They'll take it from you regardless. You either fight for what you love or you give it up and live with that. Either way, we will live with our actions, as I've been stating before I will rather live with the ones with me on the Front rather than standing by or hiding. 

Fuck that.

I've already paid my price. 

Yes, yes you have.

I ask you to put in work so that you don't have to pay yours. 

I'll see you on the front. We will not go quietly.

Peace and Love
Continue to be good to each other. 

Apathy or I don't have an alternate title, just meh.....

Waking up from the couch I reach over to the chrome book and turn off the youtube vid. The entire house is pitch black and I have no idea when it is. I still feel the pull from sleep and I just want to know enough if I can close my eyes and keep sleeping till 8 am. The pressure in my bladder convinces me that I shouldn't go back to sleep and I should evacuate my bladder. I once dreamed that I was in the bathroom and could not urinate. Thankfully I woke up before anything bad can happen and a bit annoyed that my dream would even get me to attempt to let go my bladder. 

After regaining my patience, I walked over to the kitchen table and found The Matron curled up in my usual spot on sleep and at peace. There was a time before the dog when she would at least attempt to sleep near me wherever she could, yet the dog being yappy and a bit of a dick always tried to go for her tail despite knowing that she would slash four across his eyes in any attempt. I still think he thinks it's a stupid game in which he has no idea how close the cat is to teaching him a very serious lesson. 

I feel a bit of remorse when I turn on the light overhead and place my chrome book next to her. She utters a small protest in which I mimic and sit in front of her. I used to study in this same stop for 9 hours straight for the majority of the week. At times being the only person at home, she would seek my nearness and lack of effort to constantly pet her even if she was far more adorable than she probably deserves to me. She rises and does that funky stretch that always makes them look as if they're going to launch themselves into space and our dance of salutations. She rubs against my face as I also seek her side. It leaves a lot of fur on your face and yet I always do so considering I'm always counting her days and have lost many a feline friend in the most stupidest and cruelest fashion. 

Always give love when you can, even if you can't collect. The act of giving is often more than enough. 

We get into our positions. She with her rear pressed against my machine and I tapping away with this at the moment. It's only 8 pm and I feel that I should have been much more productive even though I'm suffering a bout of stuff in my throat and apathy. Much like the pre-cold, it sticks to me until I can gather enough warmth to loosen it once more and chances are I'm not doing anything productive, much less pro-active to pull myself out of it. These are the moments I feel anything close to loneliness. When I'm feeling a bit less than what I'm constantly told that I should feel and there is no one around to pull me out. There are small moments when I do break down with a text to someone asking them to lie to me and tell em things will be alright. Almost immediately they respond in cheery manner and ask if they have to come pick me up. I already feel bad about asking for affirmance, I'd hate to make them come get me even if I don't need it. I know if something does happen I can have a small squadron moving towards me and there have been times when I refused to participate and simply sat outside to see them arrive. Somehow I gathered a magnificent collection of people who would do this, even if I'm the last person to ever say they need it.

I pulled a bit of sweet potato from a steamer used and start eating it without desire. I know it has to be something since I have no sense of joy. I can not understand if it's physical or mental and at times I don't bother questioning it despite how I DO question everything. The Matron demands a bit more attention as she  rubs me close and almost begins to lecture me on my appearance. She immediately begins to bathe me, with muttered meows of how I should have done thins myself. She continues to apply affection on my arm halting it from writing and even gets me to rub her a bit more. Funny, is there any other animal besides cats and dogs who find joy with you rubbing their face? It's all odd and I pull away to get to work as she utters more complaints and how I should not put myself through a few more hours of tappy tappy grr grr or what I call trying to write. 

When I tell people now, I'm really trying it gains me some new pause. They can actually see I'm trying and at the moment I'm trying to fail upwards rather than away. Right now I realize that I actually had plans to visit a close friend. I think it would have been enough of a break through to even want this rather than try to not go because MEH. Yea, once again therapy has pulled down walls I used to protect and hold me in and now I realize much to my surprise I want to see people. I want to spend time with them even if MEH has me by a death grip. I limit my time, sure, but I want to go. I want to be around these people I can't fucking get rid of this point.

*looks towards the fucking elephant in the room and lifts his arms in to declare defeat, walks over to it, and punches it on the fucking trunk again. That's how high I can punch it, it's a fucking elephant*

I'm going to make myself look even more fucking alien than before. I'm going to make you wonder what the fuck is wrong with me because I have to get this off my chest and if I don't it's only going to weigh me down and drag me back to old places and depressing thoughts. I'm through with that shit. My new goal is to fuck myself up in new places and make more of a fucking fool on how much I honestly don't know how things are. 

I'm in my fucking 40's, something I never thought would happen or arrive. I'm in my fucking 40's and I honestly know fucking nothing of worth. I don't know if it was because I was never taught, ever understood or even realized I'm part of. It almost feels as if I'm coming out of my cave of isolation only to discover a good friend waiting at the mouth of the cave waiting to give me a piece of their mind on ho much of an asshole I am for being in there in the first place. I get it, but I just realized there was an exit. Can I get that much? I know, everyone else knew, but I didn't. And if I had ANY ability to lie I would have come up with a better option then "I didn't know" because it's that sad. It's almost sad enough to go back in and close the fucking cave.

I mean, I just discovered how boundaries work and yes, Crazy Doc says I'm really doing well because I'm using that shit like it had an expiration date. I know people see me being difficult and believe I'm being so just because, but no. I'm really tearing up old shit that I was told years ago by some really fucked up people who needed a host to parasite to. I'm reviewing everything everyone has taught me about love and friends and I'm not doing it right. I have people who I'm friends with over 10 years minimum of trying to get rid of them somehow and each and every fucking time they pull me out of my funk and try to have me be people. That's shit is annoying and I've learned to live with it and they even learned to let me hide out, be quiet, and just be a miserable fuck if it meant that I would only go the fuck outside and chance getting shit on. Well, that just starting to change. I'm starting to feel I want to be outside. That I always felt being outside was never an option, but I might want to give it a try at least until someone yells at me to go back in. I don't understand it, but I am different. I'm more human as if that ever meant anything. It's not like I ever wanted to be less, but I want more. I want what's due and what I don't understand. That's what's driving me now, what is it that I don't understand that a person in a sunny bright room overlooking the graveyard can have so much immense patience with me and say, "no....no, someone misinformed you. You don't have to do that. You just have to do this."

I mean, I'm past feeling awkward at realizing I know nothing.

*looks right over to the same fucking elephant, now rubbing its stupid fucking trunk and smacks it another, leaving a very nasty bruise and wince. Mind you, it's imaginary and I would never do this to a living creature, ever, but for the analogy, you better be getting used to this shit from now on because I'm tearing all this shit down*

The very concept of love has been taught to me by people who should have been fucking committed. People who should have been committed as psychopaths who taught me that I need to give everything to people and that I had no value outside of a certain group of people being happy due to my actions. That my only purpose what to be the monkey wrench to certain type of people so that they can continue to tear themselves apart only to have them build them up again. To not try anything different and to remain hidden for fear of people discovering what I am as if there is anything wrong with it. That I should hold my tongue, take a hit, and know I am nothing. That I'm valued for the same attributes that make them want to punch me in the face for. That I should be their appendage, their piece of sanity in people form and holding them broken down should be a privilege and honor even if they had to get rough with me. In my really fucked up and naive start as someone who cares, I have endured shit that if I ever told anyone about they would recoil in horror, not only because shit like that happens but from now discovering my monotone ability to recite said horrific memories often has always chilled people into realizing I'm not really all there. That such a thing happening to anyone should tear them apart and my existence proves that some things can be survived, but the cost is a terrible monument to the uncanny valley of which I am a regular in.

So I'm always trying to relive interactions and moments that I could not understand. Now with this realization, I'm in shock that I don't fall into my own beautiful mind hell where I count the holes in the tiles, realize that I will never fit in as human and that my own action cause me my own injuries. The fact that I know this shit is real is just....surreal. I now see things that could have been said and done to prevent any of this. If I was ever able to walk over to little boy me, I realize that a long hour hug would have been a great start. Teaching him boundaries and what friends can ask for and what they can not. What love interest I should remain a distant acquaintance due to any red flag, that my own mind was my own and I had all rights to feel any way I could even if I could not understand it. That I didn't need to place the world on my shoulders, people are not all cruel or in need of something you have. That I can trust people and if they stick with my stubborn and goofy ass after 10 years they are family. That my family is the result of the twisted and sick effect of selfishness of others and the cruelty of no one standing up to them. That I would probably should keep certain people I've been to bed with as friends instead of lovers, that some people can not be made happy by my means and I must walk away before their self-inflicted misery infect me. Just because she has blue hair is not a reason to go along with her. That I should always keep a sense of humor because it will stop people from shooting me. That it's ok to hug your friends a little longer instead of pushing them off. That it's going to be ok once they understand what each scar had to teach me in my long train wreck of a life. 

That people will never understand and those who try to make any attempt to should be humored, but not given free reign to me. That it's ok to walk way. That it's fine to realize you need someone to stand with you only to help you say the hard things that hurt so much to say. That it's ok to call the squadron in when you are past your limit and let them take care of you. There there are good people in the world and you are not alone. That's its ok to cry even if you think you ran out of tears. 

*sigh*

Apathy is realizing no one cares you have just been knocked down. That your life is a bit harder than theirs. That sometimes you can't lift your arms to fight back because it's all you do and you'd rather get the beating because it will be over soon, just close your eyes and it will be over. That the Warm Jets never come. The calvary will arrive at your end. That even if you overcome the hardest thing you have even endured, tomorrow is another day and you have to do it again. It's knowing your scream will never be heard because no one has ever heard it and you just don't have it in your to scream anymore. It's crawling toward the impossible with the heavy boot of doubt pressed upon you. It's opening the yogurt that says, "Sorry, please try again" and noticing the yogurt is cheese. 

That's apathy. 

It's what I'm fighting now. There was a brief moment where I looked over my shoulder, more reflex than anything and noticed that the Abyss was no seen. Remembering moments where I stared into it when first opening my eyes for the day and knowing it was the last sight endured before sleep would take me. There were times I seen life within it and moments realizing I was looking at the world from the inside of it and not caring if I sink lower into it to forget it's maw all together. For a small moment in my existence, I was out and much like John Cusack, I scream now that I was out. I was for a moment of time out and it did not exist. Now, I see it near. I see it and I actually have the nerve to try to fight it again. Even if apathy whispers seductive and comfortable narratives to let go.........let it happen......I never had the chance......just give......up.....let ......go.......forget......being......free.....just.......walk in......and......give up.....

That how it gets you. You walk through willingly. You are never dragged through or deceived. You willingly walk in and sit. As close as you can get to suicide without killing yourself. Then it's just a matter or time and you just.....don't........care......

*sighs and feels eyes burn with new tears*

I just started doing that, you know. Crying. I just relearned to cry and not laugh. It's so fucking rare and I don't do it because it's so hard to stop, but it does happen even when I don't want it to. Yet that's there, I actually care somehow to realize this is just fucked up. That I was happy. That I could actually enjoy an accomplishment without any challenge or difficulty. That there no hoops to jump through and they're not on fire. You actually get comfortable and drop defenses that numb you so that you can feel again. And you know you're going to be hit badly if it happens, but you just want to stop being numb and you feel, for a few moments in fucking time you just feel and you don't care what it is as long as you can feel and you don't have to keep use so much energy and effort to protect yourself from things that never....

BAM!

...you stagger and you get that rush of adrenaline and fear. Your actions go into damage control mode and you realize that it happened again. You try to take understand of all of it and you just try not to let the fear paralyze you. You need to get moving and get as much momentum as you can before it can set in and you realize that this is not new and it comes back again and again. 

And yet, I'm trying to fight it. I'm trying to fight apathy. I'm trying to not regret that I got hit again, but that I don't want to be on the defensive. I'm trying to do something different. I'm trying to fight apathy and I don't know if I can, but I have to try. 

And that's where I am now. I'm just trying to fight apathy and see if I can go back to something else. Not this. I too used to this. I want to know something else, but not this. 

No ending. I really don't have one. 

Please Stand By

My dearest apologies, loyal and critical readers,

I had so much to share and contribute with so much happening last week. Overall, it was positive, magnificent, and challenging in every way. Those closest to me have a hunch of what I'm enduring at the moment and have all arrived at one statement:

You need a lawyer.

So, I'm trying to find one considering financial limits, gathering proof, and simply attempting to find one who knows if they can help me. So I'm in a bit of a mental hurricane.

Please have some patience with me and I shall give all. My most magnificent change a week ago, putting myself in the worst place for me in spite of what I had to gain, the fact that I actively looked over my shoulder and realized that the abyss was not to be seen and hardly felt.

And sadly, yes what happened Thursday at 9pm and why I need a lawyer.

Why not tell it now?

*sigh*

Ever lived an ordeal that simply telling it drained you of life, happiness, and drive to accomplish anything? Well, that has been the majority of my life without any....ANY....embellishment. In many ways, it's why I see the Crazy Doc and why he told me I needed to fight this. I needed to take this on as much as I have taken anything on and put this to it's grave. I would tell it, but not now. I need to time to process and time to gather my thoughts. I also want to touch on something happy, if only for myself and to give respite that I had worked so hard for.

......I was working hard, I was.

I need a lawyer.

Please, forgive me. I should have something a bit more cheery for you. It was an awesome week.

I'll see you on Wednesday.

Will You Run Out Excuses Before I Run Out of Words? or How To Justify that You Should Not be Executed On the Spot

There really isn't a lot of reasons why I write. I can say that the strongest reason why I do so is that I am not eloquent in any way although I do have a knack for it at times. If given enough time and preparation I can make myself the center of attention and begin to speak within the moment. Considering that I have a harsh difficulty, if it can be called that, in not being able to lie without every living creature realizing that I'm not only horrendous, but that it's almost an insult to people that would try. Not having much of an ability to even guild the lily in order to save my hide, I've been burdened to tell the truth as bluntly as possible. Thankfully I've learned a few things doing so.

1. No one believes you anyways
2. It gives you a chance to use some sort of eloquence and tact when tasked to reveal something that may just hurt their feelings and in some extreme case your feelings also. 
3. If done tactically you can tell anyone anything. That's the true test of eloquence. Can you make people swallow the truth when they want a particular answer?
4. It weeds people from you very quickly. 
5. If you can tell someone something you hold back on you are free. "I love you". "I despise you and everything you stand for." "Yes, I was looking at her butt. It's a nice butt. You should join me in looking at it. If I was able to I'd do things to that butt that we'd both enjoy. Hell, if you lay your cards right I'll even let you watch"

I'm being a bit facetious on that last one, but I'm not too far from what I told a friend. I mean in that case I was busted in looking at our server's cute butt in her black jeans and it was nice. Considering that it was a sight to actually make me stop conversation and that I had no romantic feelings with the friend who I was having lunch it was a freeing moment.

So.....yea. A little levity for you. For me more. I'm trying to lighten the mood a bit because as I started out here I was going with why I write and for what reason.

And that was such a cute butt. Not big or anything. A cute butt because it was petite and so adorable. I wouldn't have looked at her twice, but man.....that was a cute butt. Ah.....but enough with me treating a woman like a piece of meat......I'd nibble on that butt too....so cute.....ok, back to track.....

But yea, there are moments in life just like this one with the cute server's butt in black jeans who bent to pick up a spoon where I am able to communicate verbally with people, even in crowds given enough prep, but I can assure you that outside of two people I've never spoken to anyone about this cute girl with rich dark short hair and a glorious smile about her cute butt. Some things I can do with speech and others I can do withy written words. Writing gives me a time to reflect and actually relive in the moment. She wore a blue denim color long sleeve shirt, Long dark apron that honestly covered most of her until she knelt down facing away from me and lifted this perfectly round butt. There was no sight of the color of her underwear or even skin, but those jeans were hugging her beautiful rear not as skinny jeans would, but just a well-worn pair used daily in a labor intensive job of food service. She had blue studs in her ears too.

Woa....see.....I just remembered that moment just with writing. As I used to say, I have a silver tongue, but golden fingers. I do much better given space and the right mind frame. So....yea, I'm going to say bye bye to our cute server with the cute butt and rich dark brown eyes that just kept me from looking at her face. Sometimes people are just way too pretty for me to look at. I can't help feeling that towards "beautiful people" (i.e. anyone not me). I'm going to let this pleasant imagery go and really cut to the bone now and deal with what's really churning my stomach with bile.

Above all, my writing is a defense mechanism. Back when I was younger and my stutter was bad I could not express myself as well. I've grown of course and I'm able to speak to most people given a certain amount of abandonment I must intake in order to be able to function. I'm the kind of person who collects bad feelings without trying and there have been times my writings have saved me from acts of violence, forcing me to come to terms with what I'm not able to process. Just as I had described my server more than 10 years ago it helps me focus enough on what is truly bothering me if I just give it enough time. If I can just get the literal ball rolling I'll be able to get that momentum revving and pointed to where I need it.

And I honestly do need it right now.

I've been avoiding writing because I know I'm going to have to expell bile, anger, fear, confusion, and a whole lot of hurt in this moment. And somehow just approaching a blank page and vomiting acid onto the screen is not something most people want to read and it's something I can not endure to write, even if it does help me. I would rather write about how cute the server's rear was and maybe even get inventive, changing my true timeline to one where as I was paying our bill I asked for her number and even an opportunity to talk to her on safe and measured ground to not look like a monster. I know people often look at me and see "SCARY". I know that. People cross streets, clutch purses, and hold cell phones as if their lives are in danger was we share an elevator. I'm more then sensitive towards their fear and I'll do what I can to seem non-threatening, but it often does weight me down at times.....she how I'm transitioning here....and even put myself in a less dominant position. I don't mean to make people fear me and I understand if only to recognize that I've been there and I was terrified of the world myself. Not to downgrade, considering the lives of people, yet sometimes I tire of being "SCARY" to people.

It's another saving grace of mine. Exercising my verbal IQ prevents people who have spoken to me to put me in a predetermined category. One of "thug" or "minority suspect". Being the "self def dummy' for more than a decade I've learned that when a class begins women fear me and I need them to fear me. I need to play on their fears to help them realize that there may be a moment where adrenaline pumps and they won't be able to think and only immediate action can ensure their safety. Yet as time progresses they realize that I speak softly, almost tenderly. I have immense patience and even "kind eyes". That I can be collected, intelligent, and kind. That I will allow them to bring my over 200 lb frame down into a mercy position and emphasizing to them that I can be brought down and dealt with if they are diligent, swift and unforgiving. It's a cost to pay to empower women. To make them strong and show them the worth of backing up their worthless no with power to make it stand. To teach them that they should use their illusion of being frail, dainty, a bit heavy, pocket-sized and able to be picked up, weak and any other adjective used to dehumanize them into victim rather than the fierce creature of fury that they really are.

So I play into my stereotype to help, yet I know it also hinders. I've been in positions where I know someone given the means pull out a weapon and shoot at me causing me to fall upon the ground to bleed out. That my large frame is intimidating upon view and if I'm doing anything not normal I can, and in many situations have faced moments where my life could have been taken. Often times people do not see a person attempting to reenter their vehicle in broad daylight and in the view of everyone and taking as long as an hour. What they see is street crime. They do not question if it's their vehicle, they see a criminal. I do not have the luxury of the benefit of the doubt despite if they actually take the moment to read into the situation they see that it's almost a Men In Black moment where either you have the most incompetent criminal breaking in or someone having a really fucked up day. It's why when I get police coming my way, I wave at them to get their attention even though they're coming for me. I don't have much to hide really. And I know given enough time, even in the back of a patrol car, I can vouch for myself.

Given the fact that I'm not attractive enough to say, "hello, I'm Brad Pitt...." I learned every quickly that I need a pitch and I need a good one. I don't send dick pics, I send fully written messages where grammar is utilized and I use as much literary elbow grease to help argue my point of say, 'you should really give me the time of day in a safe measure and distance and you'll realize I'm a kind, thoughtful person you may be able to spend time with". So give, I can say "send nudes' or even "how big are your tits" even if I am thinking it. I have to pitch woo and speak my already hindered mind with the truth and hope that I get someone's attention for them to honestly say, "oh....my breasts? They're lovely! Would you like to see them? In person? I'd love for you to admire them! You seem safe enough to ensure you won't kill me and might even call the next day I show you my breasts!"

Ha ha...I'm trying to have fun with this.

Yea, if I am in the back of a police car like I have many times before I have to be respectful, kind, not give lip, not seem threatening and even answer with caution because everything can and will be used against me even though I do have my keys locked in, with my bag inside with my id and at least 20 things inside that I can vouch it being my vehicle. Shoot, for preservation means I have to take control of the conversation and say things that they will not imagine me to say. "Officer, could you please help me?" "I'm so frazzled I might start crying in a minute." "I'm not having a good day and I needed to be on the road an hour ago." All the while making my movements deliberate, slow and non-threatening. And mind you, as innocent as I never seem I usually end up with them laughing and even apologizing for the moment. Because in the end, I'm not carjacking, gang banging (80's lingo not now you perv), and not taking part in Brown on any other color crime. I'm having a bad day as a good citizen and I really could use the help.

"DO you want me to call the police!?!?"
"Could you? I need help and you are not being helpful."

That always makes people confused. Embarrassed they even try to save face or bravado with "Well, you were doing something illegal!" They even try to say they are armed and I could have defended themselves, which in all truth I know they couldn't. If I was their predator of imagined fear, I would have torn them apart. I would have been smoother, sleeker, deadlier and even menacing. I would have stolen the car in seconds, instead of being out there for an hour in daylight in from of everyone. If I wanted them hurt, dead, murdered, raped, or eaten I would have hunted them down for my benefit and made sure there was no witnesses or chance to struggle instead of doing nothing of the such. If I was going to do all those horrible things they imagine me doing, I would have simply jumped out of the closet or pulled them under the bed in my hellish domain where the only thoughts in their head would have been that one relative spouting FOX/Briebart/Alt Right warnings of how this was always planned by us and our domination of their foolish denial of my racial and monsterous actions muh ha ha ha.....

*sigh*

Ok, I'm here. I'm near the elephant and I'm going to get it out the fucking room.

A teenaged boy walks to the store to buy skittles and tea. He walks back and he's shot dead by someone who was told to not pursue the scary guy in the hoodie.

Justifications?

• Hoodies are criminal wear
• He smoked pot, therefore thug
• He looked menacing
• He didn't look like he belonged
• He attacked the man trying to be a good citizen 
• The man attacked had his right as a citizen of Florida to stand his ground and shoot his attacker.

Ok, Fine.

A twelve-year-old is playing with a toy gun at an empty park across the street from his home. A concerned neighbor calls police where the officer states that he called the armed individual to cease where the armed individual points said weapon causing the officer to shoot him dead. Recorded footage shows officer stopping vehicle and immediately shooting boy without any word.

Justifications?

• He should have known better than to play with a toy gun
• His parents are to blame for letting him outside unsupervised
• His violent nature is what scared poor police officers into defending themselves.

Uh huh.......

Teenage boy is told to get out the street where he is ignored and is shot and allowed to bleed out before any ambulance or first aid is administered. It was filmed and given to media after the police department began to defame the boy and would lead to numerous protests against noticeable negligence and escalated police action even among protesters with fingers on triggers and rifles aimed. Shown to the world a police force with military hardware and little compassion and police tactics to hold the peace.

And yet.....

• He was BIG. He scared the poor police officer!
• He was a thug, like most of the community they're animals
• He should have got out the damn street and obeyed law officials
• His disrespect is what cause his death and those people don't know how to behave civilly. Those animals rioted because that's all they know!

Ok....sure.......

Man carrying an airsoft gun in it's box within a Walmart in an open carry state is short on sight after being told that this man was pointing a weapon in the store. Not even the NRA protest that this man's right to open carry or in this case walk with a toy gun in a box was violated.

So.....

• Maybe he WAS pointing it at people, you weren't there!
• He knew better than to have a gun, even a toy in the store where he was purchasing it
• He had a track record, probably, and he worse deadlocks. He doesn't look respectable at all.

.....nope no pattern here.

Man shot numerous times in the back after being questioned by police until he falls to the ground. He is then handcuffed. Reported that he was attacked while recorded evidence states otherwise. Later to find out there was no probable cause.

So this one....

• Why was he running?
• Why did he need a warning? He was running away! He deserved to be shot numerous times.
• He handcuffed him for his safety! He could have been on drugs! Police lives matter!
• You have to be safe than sorry! I would have done the same to protect myself!

uh huh.....

Man pulled over in car at a stop. He drives away from the officers in haste where he is met with gunfire until he crashes his car on the curb and dies.

So....

• Why was he running?!?
• He could have hit the officers!
• He was hiding something! You don't drive away from police!
• It was self-defense!

.....moving on.....

A heavy set man was questioned by officers for selling another man a single cigarette. Questioned by police on authenticity of the CDs he was selling. Three officers physically take him down while he didn't resist. Complains that he was not allowed to breathe. Died of crushed windpipe among watchers who recorded the incident on various angles. Officer who was responsible for his death is given a raise despite of being investigated for negligence.

You were saying?

• He was doing something illegal! 
• He was a big guy! He could have hurt those officers! You have to play it safe.
• He resisted. He should have never resisted. When police speaks to you, you respond correctly

........

Man is pulled over in an open carry state where while driving with his girlfriend and child in the back seat. They record the incident via Facebook as a new way to document an alarming amount of deaths at police hands. Man states as for his second amendment right he is armed and is noticing police that he was carrying his gun on his person in which police quickly shoot inside the car killing him. Police, while being recorded, then threaten his girlfriend to comply as he dies next to her and his baby while it's circulated among Facebook. The video is quickly taken down due to disturbing footage where as people continue to upload it in order to keep the footage seen.

....

• He must have made some move on the officer!
• That footage is fake and it's a false flag also!
• He should have complied with police! He resisted somehow!
• Why was he armed? Why would he need a gun? He looks like a thug.

Sure.....

Woman pulled over in a minor traffic violation and is shown on police car footage to be roughly pulled from car and taken into custody. While in custody, she is discovered to be hung within her cell with no visible signs of struggle as determined by corner autopsy. Ruled as suicide. Her case is then settled outside of court as a wrongful death for the sum of 1.9 million dollars

• She resisted arrest! That's why she was taken into custody!
• The officer was rough because he had to control her. He placed a knee on her neck to protect himself
• She took her own life. That's on her.

......*sigh*

Man arrives to find his mentally autistic patient sitting down playing with a toy car as police have their guns trained on him. He announces to police that he was this man's social worker and he did not have the ability to respond to their demands. Police train their weapons on him. In an act of submission, he lays on his back with hands raised high above his head while stating he was unarmed and only wanted to protect his patient who can not respond to their commands. He is shot and survives the wound, later to give an interview where he stated his own disbelief. 

well....

• What? He lived, right?
• He should have not defied police! He got what he deserved.
• Honestly, he just made things worse.

Seriously?

Police kill woman while cradling her 5-year-old son in an armed standoff with two other men. The boy is also shot yet survives. No negotiations are made to ensure the safety of the occupants or any attempts at diplomacy. Woman makes a recording with her son on Facebook stating that police was outside of her door ready to kill them. The video is taken down for being offensive.

• She was crazy! She should have given up!
• She held her gun and used the child as a human shield, you're not going to try to defend this one, are you?
• She was a thug and a criminal. She deserved to die! This is more of a mental health issue. Not police fault! 

.........wow.....

Police shoots sleeping 7 year old in botched raid while filming a reality show. He is tried twice for manslaughter and careless discharge for firearm. he is allowed to return to service.

• That was an accident. It happens all the time.
• Police lives matter also!
• They were criminals. They brought it down on themselves.
• Death from Black on black crime is close to 95%. No one ever protests that!

....are you fucking serious? 

Disabled man in his car was reading. He is shot and killed while police is on the search for someone with outstanding warrants. Claimed that he was armed in the open carry state and he died from his wounds.

• That's no excuse to riot like animals
• You weren't there! How do you know he wasn't armed?
• He should have complied with police! He must have done something!

.........ok.....fine.....

Abandoned car is reported as four officers arrive to find a man next to his vehicle. He was instructed to raise his hands. He complies. He is told to place his hands on the vehicle. He complies. He is shot and collapses on to the ground where he bleeds out under helicopter footage of the "bad dude". No weapon is found on his person or in the closed vehicle. Officer who shot claims the man was not complying. It is later reported that the man was walking towards officers for assistance since he was stranded on the road. Police claim responsibility for unlawful action.

Well.......

• There's footage of him without his hands up! He was asking for it!

Wait the fuck one second!

• The Black on Black crime is up to 93%. How come no one protests Black on Black crime?

You have to be fucking kidding me! What the fuck does this have to do with an execution! Everyone agrees that he was nonviolent! He had no weapon! He made no attempt while four officers and a helicopter watched him COMPLY! What the fuck did he do to deserve to be shot! What else could he have done! For being a "bad dude" he was already COMPLYING! WHAT THE FUCK IS LEFT!??!?!

• ........

Well! Are you going to answer? How do you justify this shit?

• You know, you're making this a racial thing and that's really hurting your cause. You are limiting people from helping and honestly isolating people from making things better.

Are you fucking kidding me you piece of shit?

• You also need to praise cops on what they're doing right. It's not all cops.

........Fuck you.

.......and that was my week so far. This shit. All of this shit right here......

*shakes head, almost to tears*

I mean........what can you say? What can you say when words are so fucking meaningless. I didn't even mention race. I didn't mention names. I kept things are blank as possible. Since when is simply being a death sentence? I mean, Judge Dread was a comic book, right? A bad movie with a good movie afterward? It was the left over of old Ron's "Make my day" Merica, right? This is what Dirty Harry wants to come back to, no? The SJW's and pussy generation not wanting this kind of shit? 

Remember when I said, I can talk my way into and out of things? How I can't lie? How I look scary and know I had these moments where I needed to explain to people who didn't see me as someone who needs help. Someone who perhaps is having a bad day or needs assistance. No, I had these moments where someone, if they had a weapon in hand, would have shot me on sight. Because I'm scary. I give you that. I know I look scary. I know I have to talk to people to let them know who I am.....

......I make the joke. I make it, but if I had a way, if I had any chance I'd change my 5' 11' 234 lb Latino frame to Tiffany. Who's Tiffany? Tiffany is a 16-year-old white girl I made up in my head. I want to be 5' 1'' little. I want to look as delicate and fragile as china. I want people to fear breathing on me in case I broke. There might even be a chance where I can be sexually harassed at this point, but considering how lethal my almost 30 years of martial arts and combative training has made me I will chance it. I will take an existence of 70 cents on a dollar for work and being called a cunt for either not putting out or everything else. I'll chance the hell women go through every day, not to mock it but know that it exist. I will trade for this existence instead of knowing that I might be shot without given even a chance to speak. I mean, I have nothing if I can't speak to someone. My existence is not only scary looking now, but actually running the chance of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and being shot. 

Not just being shot, but knowing that I will get airtime as the poster boy of "damn right he was shot, LOOK AT HIM!" I would have my entire Facebook page torn apart for any photos that make me look like the imaginary monster that lives in their heads. My writing and my possessions will be investigating. The worst of what I am will be more then justification to why I had to die on the cold ground as I bled to death, maybe even questioning what happened. I survived LA during the 80's gang wars. I survived a cult. I lived through being shot at my young fools with drug money on their mind. I survived protesting to "Stop The Violence" and even walked through Bloods, Crips, and even Grapestreet turf to just go to work or to even have a dialogue with my generation who said they were down, only when it's ok to "kill da police". I even stood with counter point that a gunship heli would be sent. That during the LA riots, the streets were emptied by people and filled with clean shaven muscular bus drivers too pale for the neighboorhood. That you didn't fight and change your place and help your people with weapons or shit slung on the streets, but with your words and story. Hip hop thrived. We stopped killing each other because no one else would help us. We were deemed animal in congress with bad family morals and even our "safe" presidential candidate claimed us to be criminal. 

Then Columbine happened. Guns in school was an issue. Then the epidemic of Narco-trafficking entered the suburbs. So it really was a thing! Then the meth epidemic happens to nice, white kids away from the Urban life. Then all the shit they convinced us being happened to them and they wonder what could it be. They never believed that we needed help, better schools and jobs. Our OG's had to come back and give to the neighborhood. NWA now sell Beats and Bud Lite when they used to tell stories of Lynwood Sheriffs and shootings. Our neighborhoods have changed to the point where people would call me brave for walking at night to being gentrified. High rent and a changing demographic are what's changing Silver Lake, East Los, Downtown, Inglewood, and even the Jungle and South Central. Streets that burned in the riots now have Starbucks and Organic markets where burned out lots used to remain. 

But we are still plagued with this belief that we are animals. That we are going to rape your white little girls and destroy your peaceful way of life. That we are going to make them listen to the Beyonce while the Black Panters walk down your Main Streets on the American flag. We will bring you the drugs you heard on tv and how you how you need your Dirty Harry, Walker Texas Ranger, Charles Bronson, and Arnie back. You need people who are gonna pull the trigger and not be politically correct. To teach us a lesson with your stockpile of weaponry when we uppity march, speak, sit dow, kneel or just fucking be! Merica has lost it's way, even if crime is down despite the 95....93% Black on Black crime that somehow is justified because you are animals. The high police death rate that's really at an all time low. I would like to question the validity of #AllLivesMatter when they were shooting AK's on our streets and crack made life dangerous. I do know that #BlueLivesMatter especially when that other uppity nig.....URBAN gentleman was pulled over in Silver Lake and beaten on camera and it was decided that videotape lie.

Fuck, even EZ E went to Theodore J Briseno's aid during that ordeal. Fuck the Po Lice, right?

*sigh*

This shit.......and the election.....and the Alt Right.......It's really scaring me now. At a time where we can even pretend that these people were killed on accident. With footage of this shit happening while people justify it short of saying, "Ya'll #%@$% deserve to die" a la Trumpism. At this point, people are just getting executed. Like when they showed America that one Vietnamese man being shot in the head so close to the end of the war. Can we just drop the facade? Can we just stop with all the justifications and excuses and just say it. Say it. Say the words you are thinking. Just stop lying to us. Say your piece and be honest for once. Say it.

They all deserved to die, no legal course or due process.

Why do we have a legal system? Just to incarcerate more of us? Why do we have a system to pretend that people are being 'redeemed"? Why not just say that everyone, from a woman who may have had some mental issues deserved to die while holding her child. That no negotiation could be bothered with to save the life of a child. Why? There's a 12-year-old shot for a toy and several men killed in open carry states simply just standing. How many of them were just shot? How many of them were praying prayers or trying to wrap their heads around the people with the guns pointed at them. How many believed that they were going to die while other were certain they were going to be ok. What is the justification of execution? What do we teach our children to do now? Don't buy candy or tea? Don't play outside? Don't wear this or that? Even gangs used to take a few minutes to see if someone wore a color before shooting at them. Don't we get that much? Do we get a chance to run? Call for help? Stand our ground? Shoot back? Hold our hands up and say we will do what you ask? What is left? What is left to do? Can't even read in your own car. Or drive. Or walk. Or own a firearm. or shop at a store. Or play outside. Or continue to smoke your cigarette you bought off of someone else for a quarter.m Or just be at the wrong place at the wrong time having one of the worst days of your life. Shit, having the last day of your life.

No words. I don't have the words to get through to people. Why must people be shot on sight by people who are trained to hold the peace? Why must they aim guns for their protection? Why must we follow people's instructions who will simply bring death to us? Guess what, the gangs are pretty much an old memory. We need protection from you. Like before.

Then again, we'd have to assume that you were supposed to be protecting us in the first place. I wish we can ignore history. I seriously wish we could. Then we can smile a bit more and maybe dance in the street for the right to live and not get shot. 

I don't want to feel useless. Or scared. Or angry. Or lethargic. This happened before I was born and it seems it will continue. The only difference now is that we have a new branch of apologetics, demanding that we comply even if we are executed on the spot. 

.........

I kind of wish I wrote more about the girl with the cute butt. She was pretty and I would have been more nostalgic rather than apprehensive on what tomorrow will bring. 

I really wished I felt better after this. I really wanted this feeling of dread to leave me. For my stomach to stop hurting. To not look over my shoulder again for Blue like I used to for Blue, Red, or Raider Colors. Huh, football. The Rams are back now. Those used to be safe colors. Yellow and light blue......maybe.....ha ha.....the man kneels in protest and no one realizes that he's trying to stop the execution of people if only to get them to trial. Is he really asking for so much? "Stop killing us."

• but...............

Toughen up

The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.

Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms, 1929

A friend shared this little bit of Hemingway with me a while ago. I'm always amazed on how much I avoid certain authors even though they're enjoyable. Just something that reminds me of school schedules and dusty professors and teachers already claiming how magnificent and great some books are. Never bothered to read them until college where I had the time as a science major. I enjoyed The Old Man and The Sea after some attempts, but I can say that I have not picked up The Great Gatsby or Of Mice and Men.

Just....a bad taste. I also don't do things under pressure or demand. As much as I read I only do it for enjoyment, if not love when it comes to books. Never on a tablet either. Something about the smell of books and silence of rooms while in the act of reading. Libraries often hold a special place in my heart. I've had one of my first kisses in a dusty library under the tombs of the Romantics, oddly enough. Book stores as rare as they are now, are special to me as I try to pick up a paperback classic for something less then two dollars while drooling first editions behind glass.

Yea.....books....just books. I know, I'm stalling. I'm getting there, just lost in a memory, forgive me.

I realize that I'm a bit of an off pack rat. I'm not inclined to buy things that will give me joy or happiness. Years of pinching a penny for as long as I have has ensured that the people closest to me have socks and clothes for the changing weather of places too far away from me to visit at the time. Something that I have a nasty habit and I realize that I need to correct considering that I can not think of myself without wondering if everyone else is ok. So often times gifts give me minor panic attacks wondering if I can keep it or if someone will take it away from me because I need to be taught a lesson.

Did I mention the domestic violence? Yea.....that shit is bad.

And yet, books are different. I have no idea why as I always re buy books only to pass on to others when I believe they will enjoy something new. Books are special to me. I started reading at an early age and always found comfort in them. I've collected comics in my early teens and even now I have a few Harley Quine comics in a special place. I started reading King in my Freshmen year of high school and after a while I noticed for a stupid individual I'm tearing down books with thousands of pages. Even now, I carry several books with me in case I'm stuck in a place with nothing to "do". I'm not a real fan of phones, but books will always have a special place. The say some people go on about concerts I'm about books. The only thing close to books is video games. So yea....books.....*sigh*

So as an odd pack rat outside of books, I have a habit of just picking up random things with no thought other then I need this soon and often times the moment comes in where I pull out of my back an item to save the day. Zip ties? Gonna keep this bumper up! A small odd metal weight? Ok, I have a paper weight. We're missing a screw for some reason? Paperclips! So I'm usually negating my quirk with an odd feeling of "I may need this".

Sometimes it's not a thing. Sometimes it's this quote. I didn't have time to sit and analyze it, but I knew it hit a nerve. I knew it mean something. I just needed time to ponder and moments to just let it sit in thought. Recently I'm in an odd exchange of poems with a cousin of mine, my junior by at least 20 years. She toss one towards me and if I find a moment of silence I'm able to read it and ponder it. Thankfully I know more poems so that I can keep her busy, but hers are magnificent. I've been pondering one a few days now, now seeing my initial response what shallow. Chances are between here and writing elsewhere I'm probably going to send her a response and pondering on what she sent me.

Did I mention I hated doing this in high school?

It's fun now. Before.....busy work with no enjoyment.

Ok....more then enough set up.

It's odd to me that Hemingway, the previous embodiment of manhood, would be the one to say this. Oddly enough the male ego is a delicate thing and it's bruised and hurt so easily. We can see this with adolescent hero worship of 80's action movie stars who shot guns and screamed at brown people who now cower in the fear of chemtrails while another help keep a state in ruin. But hey, they had their shirts off and they growled and grrred and made all the manly noises and shot people rather then do anything "faggoty".......ah...the 80's....wouldn't it be nice to go back so that one group already in power can not feel threatened as other people get a fair shake?

Nah.....fuck em.....ha ha....such stupidity. People actually believe in this. Scary.

Yet, Hemingway somehow shows a side of tenderness here. He shows a bit of contemplation. Something I've learned entering my 30's was to drop any feign manhood. I know most believe me being facetious when I mention this, but there comes a time, usually in a moment of great pain where a man has to question their manhood. Or what it is to be a man. I know it's chic to laugh at all the genders and to mock those who are actually questioning their persona seen. I'm not even mentioning sexuality, but just how they wanted to be seen. And of course most of these cry babies who shout "triggers" at what ever they find offensive and "bad" as the SJW's they are would never have survived my childhood where they would be called a "fag" and be called lucky if only their feelings were hurt. Because sadly somehow we were told to swallow an image of what it is to be a man that is so fragile that if someone simply acts different we are threatened with some sort of challenge to our own view.

It's sad really.

I've pondered this a decades ago along with my three questions of sexuality and I can honestly say that I'm straight. In the Kinsey scale I would be considered a hard one with no inclination towards sexual attraction to men, my own gender. I'm not bragging, but I'm simply stating a fact that I always knew. I've had many moments when someone would flirt with me along the spectrum of feminine and masculine behavior. I've been propositioned and even wooed and yet, I offer thanks and simply turn down the advances. Not matter the age, I always was straight even if I didn't really understand how important that choice was. Huh, didn't help that I was a twink in my early twenties, huh. Oh, I also had a bout of TB so kind of hard to pack on muscle from puberty when you're trying to survive.

Hey, you're attracted to what and who you are attracted to.

And yet, I've always been straight. So it kind of bothers me that I've been picked on for being "kind' or "sweet" or even "delicate". I never felt attraction towards men, but "fagot" used to fly out of mouths trying to hurt me quickly. It never bothered me because I was straight. It didn't matter since as hard as it was, I was attracted to girls my age and women today. Yet, I was different. I didn't yell at women to do things with my junk. I didn't put mirrors on my shoes. I didn't peek nor did I try to cross the line that today would be a crime and then would be boys will be boys.

Mind you, I was still a teenager and if I did see a hint of lace that would set me off. I love the female figure back then as I do now. Now I just realized that it's best to to justify making woman an object and actually talking to them. The times I've "got some" it was never a choice or due to my ability to say, "hey, girl" in the best way. I never showed up and gotten laid. I don't have a pornographic wienner and somehow I don't have that douche gene that makes me act like one. If anything I never felt attractive. I knew early on that I need at least 15 minutes to convince a woman that I'm not murderous and more time to just woo.

These days I just like a conversation. Just a moment to share time and words. I notice that "being nice" sometimes equate to me being flirtation. Trust me, if I tried to flirt it would be awkward and sad and why I simply state the obvious or just don't try. It's why I know my vocabulary is important. Words have power.

oh....craps....hold on

*notices that something on stove is burning. Takes oatmeal off fire and serves it up, soaking the pot*

*clears throat* ....ok, where was I......yes...I like women.

And yet, because I was all these things I've been on the rough side of life. People believe that I needed to "toughen up". I was told that I should watch out for the homosexual because I was their target and they would make me the gay. Sadly, being sincere and trusting I swallowed it all and I made sure no one made me gay. Sadly, doing so has caused me to be a piece of shit for a while. I regret the actions now and even though they never went past small mockery or words, I'm ashamed that I had to act that way because I had to protect against something that would never happen.

In my early life, I married at 16, tried to start a family, worked multiple jobs and even tried to take classes. It wasn't until my twenties where I would start turning about. After years of TB, medicine, and hitting the gym my thin frame began to pick up muscle. I would pack on muscle by my late twenties and finally felt eyes on me. Didn't matter since I still felt awkward and odd. Women hit on me and I didn't know. Men hit on me and they were fucking blunt. Either way, my gym workouts, martial arts and simply working out decades of frustration and anger made me......different. It made me big, nasty looking, and angry.

Oddly enough, few people would still come near. I can say that my friends chose me rather then the other way. Even they say that I carry a chip on my shoulder and a sense of anger and mayhem. I'm been in my share of fights, bad situations and even a few drive bys on the receiving side. I realized how delicate the male ego is when you scare them. Mind you, words are always best, yet when most men realize they don't have a point to argue, the anger comes out.....unless you look like you can eat them. Then they're polite.

I think my time in therapy has been mostly realizing how much of a product of my environment I am. As toxic as it is, I am that product. And as much as I can say, I'm scarier then I'd like to be.

....yea.....I know, right.....

And yet, this quote hit me and it took me time to realize what it meant to me. I wrote this a few days ago. I think it speaks well.

I was once considered soft, tender, sensitive and kind as a child. Some whispered rumors of one day being outed. Others assumes that life would just tear me apart.

No, I survived. I am a product of my world and past choices. And yet, I feel I miss that sweet, tender little boy and wish I can hold him in my arms and tell him it will be ok. Hell is coming and it will be ok. 

Sometimes....I wish I was still him.

I miss that little boy. That kid. The squeaky voiced, timid guy who was nice. Who was just a kind person, even if I was a bit of a spoiled brat. Yet, thinking now. If I could go back. I don't know if I would protect this version of me or simply prepare him. I don't know how I could improve him. OR if he needed improving in that way. I was soft, but that softness was strong. I'm still part of that kid when I'm alone and no one is near. My defenses drop and that kid sits alone and sighs.

Life is tough, yet I'm tougher. Yet this kid doesn't exist. He cried tears at how life was cruel and callus. He was in shock that he could not do anything, even to protect himself. That kid grabbed the weights and lifted until be developed an aura of malice. He took hits and bruises until he was nasty, vicious, and even horrifying. He read things that broke his heart, even just to disagree with it, but he devoured it all the same to become immune to the lies and mischievous intent until his eyes were hardened towards smiles and a sinister air hung on him that simply kept everyone away from him.

That kid became me. Can I be that kid again? I mean knowing everything and the such with improvements? Can I be the person I needed then for those who need them now? Can I?

Yea......therapy will see. I hope so. I miss that kid. He had his flaws, but he was sweet, kind, and loved people.

Ponderous Points #1 Hope and Waiting

Gained a lb and my body fat jumped from 23.1 to 23.5%. I'm not getting enough sleep sadly. I'm going to have to remedy that. I'm a bit sleep deprived which makes me laugh here in the tomb, but hey you can't fix everything immediately.

Goal today is to run 3 miles tonight, sleep in a bit since I'm running on 5 hours, and finish up my cover letter for one place and send that out to work on another. I'm in a writing streak as some of you can tell, but I'm probably going to start stacking them up considering that I can go into quiet patches. Two posts a week should be ok?

Crazy Doc is tomorrow. I know what's he's going to say. "You live in a toxic environment. You need to get out of there now." Kind of hard when you don't have a steady cash flow. If there's two things I realize being a vagabond it's that the only way people will put up with you is money or help. And somehow I'm starting to to feel my help isn't valued enough to talk to someone into letting me have a patch of carpet in the corner.

Therefore, resumes, cover letters, and just hope.

I hate hope. Hope is useless compared to a given, even if that given is negative. I'd rather know how bad it is instead of hoping. Mayhaps I'm just jaded, but I'm a fucking realist. My days of optimism ended when I was 16 and life started to get hard.

...huh.....minirant. See, going to store that up. Might even get CAt back up. Just random thoughts.

Random thoughts, plans and not trusting hope.