life is fucked up.
as a kid, my parents got divorced when i was 6 or 7. those words are almost meaningless to me now. like the pledge of allegiance or the lord's prayer, you have said the words so many times they don't have any meaning to you anymore. i don't remember a lot from my childhood. i was sent to the principal's office for calling a friend "gay" once. i was sent to the office for "stealing" a girl's ring. i put "stealing" in quotes, because we were taking a test, she was sitting next to me, her ring fell off without her knowing about it, i picked it up and said "wow, this is nice," she freaked out and told me to give it back to her, and trying to play around with her, i said "it's a really nice ring, i might have to keep it," she freaked out more, ran and got the principal, who pulled me to the office and gave me a lecture about stealing. wish i could go back in time and give her a lecture about stupid lectures. somewhere in there, i tried to kill myself. my father discovered me with a knife to my wrist, and i was sent to a therapist. the reason the therapist was told i was being sent to her was because i was still wetting the bed. she had great legs, and wore pantyhose and dresses that accentuated her legs. my time with her was pointless, except to fill me with guilt about how i was supposed to be talking with her about why i was still wetting the bed, even though it was more important to talk about why i wanted to kill myself, and all i was doing was checking out her legs to see if i could see up her dress. what a waste of time and money.
in middle school, i went on a date with this girl who, the next day, said that i shouldn't tell anybody we had gone on a date, because then they might get the wrong idea and think we went on a date and liked each other. and my obese father grabbed me, pulled me down to the ground, and sat on me so that i couldn't breathe because i wanted to recycle an aluminum can. i remember feeling like i had been treated like an adult for the first time when my step-father talked with me openly and honestly about taking nudie magazines from his room, and how i shouldn't do that anymore, and i should treat women with respect, and those magazines were fantasies and not real ways to treat women. but then because of that incident, my father said that he couldn't trust me anymore because i lied about taking a massage book from his room that had illustrated pictures of naked people in it when, in fact, i had never seen the book and still have no idea what it looks like. as punishment for this misstep of mine (which i never took), i was made to memorize the ten commandments, the boy scout honor code and have the door removed from my room because i was undeserving of privacy. if i messed up on even a little word of the ten commandments or the boy scout honor code, i was made to do twenty push ups and twenty sit ups. all because i took a book from my father's room. which i never took.
in high school, i was told i was going to hell because i believed that a woman should have the final say over what gets to happen to her body. i didn't advocate abortion or condemn it, but i said that i would be mad if somebody told me i couldn't do something with my body and i don't think anyone should have the right to tell somebody else what they can or cannot do with their body. at which point, i was told i was going to hell. i started smoking. i started smoking pot. i started drinking. i chose to live with my father because he had a car i could drive and, eventually, own. immediately after making this choice, i realized i had made the wrong choice and have regretted making that choice to this day. i found the love of my life and refused to have sex with her because i didn't know what it would do to our friendship. then i didn't see her again for seventeen years, and i always kept it in my head that if i had just had sex with her, she would have returned my phone calls or my letters. i had driven her away because i wouldn't have sex with her.
i went to college where i spent two years drinking and getting high. i had sex with lots of people i didn't like and i wasn't attracted to. i wasn't able to get cast in any plays i auditioned for. and i lived in a desolate, depressing town that had one main road into town that had a pig slaughter house on it. so every time you drove into town, you drove through a long, drawn-out smog of slaughtered pig reek. i started my stand-up comedy career with quite a bit of success (my current therapist recently said that all comics are tortured souls), and i saw david letterman and jerry seinfeld using my jokes on their television programs without giving me credit or paying me for my words. there aren't any rules or regulations about plagiarizing jokes. see bill hicks and denis leary. the dead one wrote the material for the one who is still alive, and who got famous off the dead one's work. fun stuff, huh? i transferred colleges, and had a little more success academically, continued to drink and get high and involve myself with women i didn't like very much. i befriended a guy who, the day after i broke up with my girlfriend because she wouldn't break up with her other boyfriend and just date me exclusively, slept with my newly-exed girlfriend who went to him and told him that they should sleep together so that she could hurt me. that was fun. one of my friends died in a random accident involving rain. i wrote a stage play based on the pain of the absence of the love of my life and how i was continuing to mistreat myself because of the pain from her absence. it was well received, and it was the way that my grandmother discovered i was a smoker. "you don't smoke, do you?" she asked. i pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "don't ask questions you don't want answers to," i said. i say the coolest things when i'm being an asshole. in a movie, that line would have been killer. in real life, it was just mean to my grandmother.
i moved away from home and gained no new friends. i tried to make it as a professional actor. i failed. my girlfriend slept with two of my friends during the same week, all of which happened less than a month after i left home. i went on depression and anxiety meds. i was hit on by nathan lane. gregory hines opened a bathroom door on my face. i befriended robert sean leonard, who turned out not to really be my friend and wouldn't return my phone calls. i met ethan hawke and frank whaley, and they were both incredible assholes. i made a movie trailer, and was nominated for best supporting actor in a movie trailer. i ate food out of dumpsters sometimes. i bought $20 worth of tea from a guy named Snake who had gold teeth. the tea didn't get me as high as i thought it would when i thought it was marijuana and not tea.
i moved to a place where i lived for over a decade because i fell in love with my job. it was a great job. i continued to drink off and on, get high off and on. loved my job. got involved with women i didn't really like. i dated them because of their hair color or ethnicity, not because i had any real interest in them. i had a woman demand to wash my feet, and my roommates all made fun of me that i didn't have sex with her after she finished washing my feet. i had a woman demand that she and i were going to do cocaine together, and when i told her i would listen to her talk with me all night long but i wasn't going to do cocaine with her, she broke down into tears and told me that nobody had ever been her friend without cocaine and i was the first person to accept her without drugs. and then she talked to me all night long as she did copious amounts of cocaine. i talked about the love of my life often at the job that i loved. i was promoted at my job a lot. i was given lots of freedoms and privileges. i was respected. and i liked the work i was doing. i liked who i was when i didn't have to be who i was. when i could be funny and i could make people feel good. it was as close to being jesus or a super hero that i have ever gotten. then i wasn't promoted at my job like i thought i was going to be, and i quit and moved back to my fat father who had sat on me, suffocating me years before, and who had adopted two children to take away money from me that his father had given to me when i was a child. cool guy, huh? later on i found out that he had duct taped his 10 year-old son's hands and ankles together. classy fella.
then i reconnected with the love of my life again, and we got married. that was the best day of my life. i relive that day often. all of the people i love most in this world were there. and i wasn't drunk or stoned. i was just completely happy. and when i'm able to shut out all the guilt that my mind seems to feed me so often, and i'm able to remember that i have my wife, that's when i'm truly at peace. when i'm able to stop judging myself of all the things i believe i've done wrong and just look at her and see that she's in front of me, i'm completely happy. those moments are the moments that are most important to me. even last night, i was half asleep at one point when my wife was having a hard time sleeping, and i got to roll over and stick my arm up the sleeve of her shirt and scratch her back. i don't really remember it well, but i remember that she calmed down, and i felt great being able to touch her like that.
i would imagine that everyone has a story. some of it happy. some of it miserable. some of it just weird. it would be nice, i think, to hear some of those stories rather than being consumed with my own. plenty of good things have happened to me, and i can even remember some of it, but my head always leans towards the negative. some days i win the fight for positivity. my wife helps on those days. someday, i don't win that fight and i'm depressed. my wife helps on those days, too. i like it better when we're able to feel good together.
i guess, ultimately, i'm grateful that she has stuck with me, sitting beside me, despite all i am, all i was, all i continue to be. that part-- sitting beside me and just being there-- makes everything else so, so, so much better. i am very lucky to have that.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
i got home from work last night, went to bed, got up to go back to work today, and i'm still exhausted...
such a heavy month
i don't know how to fix it
i don't know how to fix it
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Respect and Titles
Around my office (and in the rest of the world I've been exposed to), if you're introduced to a doctor or you need to speak with a doctor, you address them as "Doctor". As in, "Doctor Fuckstain, please remove your penis from my rectum." This, from what I've been told, is a sign of respect. You respect the doctor because... they've... gone to school for a long time and... that's worthy of respect.
My mother is a doctor. My father is a doctor. My step-mother is a doctor. I am not a doctor. I haven't even really finished my master's degree (from almost 20 years ago). The only person out of those three people I respect enough to call "doctor" is my mother. And I probably respect her more than those other two pieces of shit because she doesn't demand people call her doctor. She worked harder to get her doctorate than either my father or step-mother. She suffered through a job that disrespected her at every turn, paid her not enough money to live off of, and had to support my fat ass. And she still became a doctor. And she doesn't demand that people call her doctor. Some of my friends call her doctor, and it's kinda weirdly nice to hear them say that, because I like it when other people give her the respect she is more than deserving of, but she certainly doesn't lead with her doctorate, and she doesn't introduce herself as "Doctor". Probably because, in doing so, you intentionally elevate yourself. "I have done work," you say to others, "and I demand you respect me for it."
I say fuck that shit, because it's completely fucked up.
People deserve respect. Period. No doctor deserves more respect than a garbage collector or a stay-at-home mother, or a social worker, or a teacher. We. All. Deserve. Respect.
So if I'm going to be forced to call doctors "doctors" just because they feel they are owed some amount of respect for the work-- good or bad-- which they did awarding them the title of doctor, I'm going to demand a title of my own. "Mr." is too ordinary. I think "God" will be sufficient. From now own, I'm going to insist that people demonstrate the respect that I'm deserving of by referring to me with my title of "God". In fact, my wife, my two children, my doctor mother, and my non-doctor step-father all have earned the pre-fix "God" before their names, and I will now demand that from people when I talk with them.
"Hello, Pedro Fuckstain."
"No, no, that's DOCTOR Fuckstain."
"Ah, yes. Of course. Please forgive me."
"Most certainly. And you are?"
"I am God Blutt. This is my wife, God Blutt. My two boys, God Blutt, and over there is God Blutt. My step-father, God Blutt. And please shake hands with my mother, God Blutt."
"It's a pleasure to shake your hand, God Blutt."
"No, no, that's God DOCTOR Blutt to you, Fuckstain."
My mother is a doctor. My father is a doctor. My step-mother is a doctor. I am not a doctor. I haven't even really finished my master's degree (from almost 20 years ago). The only person out of those three people I respect enough to call "doctor" is my mother. And I probably respect her more than those other two pieces of shit because she doesn't demand people call her doctor. She worked harder to get her doctorate than either my father or step-mother. She suffered through a job that disrespected her at every turn, paid her not enough money to live off of, and had to support my fat ass. And she still became a doctor. And she doesn't demand that people call her doctor. Some of my friends call her doctor, and it's kinda weirdly nice to hear them say that, because I like it when other people give her the respect she is more than deserving of, but she certainly doesn't lead with her doctorate, and she doesn't introduce herself as "Doctor". Probably because, in doing so, you intentionally elevate yourself. "I have done work," you say to others, "and I demand you respect me for it."
I say fuck that shit, because it's completely fucked up.
People deserve respect. Period. No doctor deserves more respect than a garbage collector or a stay-at-home mother, or a social worker, or a teacher. We. All. Deserve. Respect.
So if I'm going to be forced to call doctors "doctors" just because they feel they are owed some amount of respect for the work-- good or bad-- which they did awarding them the title of doctor, I'm going to demand a title of my own. "Mr." is too ordinary. I think "God" will be sufficient. From now own, I'm going to insist that people demonstrate the respect that I'm deserving of by referring to me with my title of "God". In fact, my wife, my two children, my doctor mother, and my non-doctor step-father all have earned the pre-fix "God" before their names, and I will now demand that from people when I talk with them.
"Hello, Pedro Fuckstain."
"No, no, that's DOCTOR Fuckstain."
"Ah, yes. Of course. Please forgive me."
"Most certainly. And you are?"
"I am God Blutt. This is my wife, God Blutt. My two boys, God Blutt, and over there is God Blutt. My step-father, God Blutt. And please shake hands with my mother, God Blutt."
"It's a pleasure to shake your hand, God Blutt."
"No, no, that's God DOCTOR Blutt to you, Fuckstain."
Two Joints and Five
This is a story I heard on NPR recently, and it won’t leave me alone.
A boy traveled from Jamaica to America with his parents when he was 3 years old. They were illegal immigrants. However, they became legalized residence and worked towards their citizenship, which they were all granted.
The boy became a Man, got married, had children. During a routine traffic stop in the state of Georgia, he was found to have a small amount of marijuana on him, almost enough for “two cigarettes”. The man was provided a public defender, and was told that he could plead not guilty, which would lead to a court battle that would cost him more than he could afford, or he could plead guilty. In pleading guilty, charges of possession of marijuana would be expunged in 5 years, he would serve no jail time, and only have to do 50 hours of probation. Believing this was the best avenue for him to take, the Man plead guilty. What he wasn’t told was that, in pleading guilty, the charge could be altered to something more severe than what he was pleading guilty to, which was the case in Georgia law at the time. So he plead guilty to possession of a controlled substance with intent to sell and distribute. For this crime, just like his lawyer said, he spent no time in jail, served 50 hours of probation, and was deported to his “homeland” of Jamaica. He had no family there, no ties whatsoever, except that he had lived there until he was 3. He was sent away from his wife and five children because he had almost two joints-worth of marijuana.
I know the stuff is illegal. I know it’s against our laws. But our laws have grades, different levels, because there are some crimes that are more severe than other crimes. If you kill somebody, you could be charged with manslaughter, or you could be charged with murder in the first. If you abandon your child because he admits to you that he’s gay, you could be charged with negligence, or you could be charged with being a Republican. There are different grades of punishment that we have come up with in our society. And it seems completely out of the realm of reality that our legal system could make it a possibility to charge a man with an illegal substance that is barely enough to get high off of with the severity of intending to distribute and sell it. That’s like saying you own a bag of Doritos, so you must be planning on opening a grocery store. It’s completely unreasonable. And then, because his lawyer didn’t inform him that he could be deported, his American citizenship is completely ignored, and this American father and husband is sent away from his family for five years. He didn’t murder anyone. He didn’t steal from anyone. He didn’t burn down an orphanage. He didn’t declare war on a country without weapons of mass destruction. He didn’t even have a drug that could cause him to act in an aggressive fashion. He had a joint and a half. And then he paid for it by being sent to one of the poorest, most rancid places on earth, away from everyone and everything he knows, for five years.
Just recently, Georgia changed its laws to say that lawyers had to tell their clients about being deported. Since this Man was not informed, and has no prior criminal record, and has completely complied with all judgments against him, it’s likely that he will be able to return to his family soon. Five years later. Five years of no contact with his wife. Five years of no contact with his kids. Five years of no contact with his home. His friends. His bed. His belongings. His pictures. Anything.
I hope the first thing he does when he gets home is gets incredibly high and forgets about the giant hypocrisy that is our American legal system and the United States of Idiocy.
A boy traveled from Jamaica to America with his parents when he was 3 years old. They were illegal immigrants. However, they became legalized residence and worked towards their citizenship, which they were all granted.
The boy became a Man, got married, had children. During a routine traffic stop in the state of Georgia, he was found to have a small amount of marijuana on him, almost enough for “two cigarettes”. The man was provided a public defender, and was told that he could plead not guilty, which would lead to a court battle that would cost him more than he could afford, or he could plead guilty. In pleading guilty, charges of possession of marijuana would be expunged in 5 years, he would serve no jail time, and only have to do 50 hours of probation. Believing this was the best avenue for him to take, the Man plead guilty. What he wasn’t told was that, in pleading guilty, the charge could be altered to something more severe than what he was pleading guilty to, which was the case in Georgia law at the time. So he plead guilty to possession of a controlled substance with intent to sell and distribute. For this crime, just like his lawyer said, he spent no time in jail, served 50 hours of probation, and was deported to his “homeland” of Jamaica. He had no family there, no ties whatsoever, except that he had lived there until he was 3. He was sent away from his wife and five children because he had almost two joints-worth of marijuana.
I know the stuff is illegal. I know it’s against our laws. But our laws have grades, different levels, because there are some crimes that are more severe than other crimes. If you kill somebody, you could be charged with manslaughter, or you could be charged with murder in the first. If you abandon your child because he admits to you that he’s gay, you could be charged with negligence, or you could be charged with being a Republican. There are different grades of punishment that we have come up with in our society. And it seems completely out of the realm of reality that our legal system could make it a possibility to charge a man with an illegal substance that is barely enough to get high off of with the severity of intending to distribute and sell it. That’s like saying you own a bag of Doritos, so you must be planning on opening a grocery store. It’s completely unreasonable. And then, because his lawyer didn’t inform him that he could be deported, his American citizenship is completely ignored, and this American father and husband is sent away from his family for five years. He didn’t murder anyone. He didn’t steal from anyone. He didn’t burn down an orphanage. He didn’t declare war on a country without weapons of mass destruction. He didn’t even have a drug that could cause him to act in an aggressive fashion. He had a joint and a half. And then he paid for it by being sent to one of the poorest, most rancid places on earth, away from everyone and everything he knows, for five years.
Just recently, Georgia changed its laws to say that lawyers had to tell their clients about being deported. Since this Man was not informed, and has no prior criminal record, and has completely complied with all judgments against him, it’s likely that he will be able to return to his family soon. Five years later. Five years of no contact with his wife. Five years of no contact with his kids. Five years of no contact with his home. His friends. His bed. His belongings. His pictures. Anything.
I hope the first thing he does when he gets home is gets incredibly high and forgets about the giant hypocrisy that is our American legal system and the United States of Idiocy.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Ugly
This song is playing in my ears this morning, and seems to have hit a strong nerve with me:
It's getting ugly
You take it on the chin
You take it on the chin
You take it on the chin
You take it on the chin
Oh! I'm gonna fuck your face up
Break bones with this bass line
Break your nose with a faceplant
Don't care what I say ya
Fuck this whole place up
Land em low with a rizzlers roll
This stuff's gonna make you taste blood
Into the sonical warfare
Into the oral vortex
Gauge out balls with this flow
Out to the scum who called it
You might be on my case but
I can't take you straight
Tell that to my face boy
I'm gonna fuck your face up
It's ugly like your sister
As ugly as your sister
It's ugly like your sister
As ugly as your sister
You'll take it on the chin
You'll take it on the chin
You'll take it on the chin
You'll take it on the chin
I really, really appreciate the medicinal and therapeutic value of music and art on days like today.
It's getting ugly
You take it on the chin
You take it on the chin
You take it on the chin
You take it on the chin
Oh! I'm gonna fuck your face up
Break bones with this bass line
Break your nose with a faceplant
Don't care what I say ya
Fuck this whole place up
Land em low with a rizzlers roll
This stuff's gonna make you taste blood
Into the sonical warfare
Into the oral vortex
Gauge out balls with this flow
Out to the scum who called it
You might be on my case but
I can't take you straight
Tell that to my face boy
I'm gonna fuck your face up
It's ugly like your sister
As ugly as your sister
It's ugly like your sister
As ugly as your sister
You'll take it on the chin
You'll take it on the chin
You'll take it on the chin
You'll take it on the chin
I really, really appreciate the medicinal and therapeutic value of music and art on days like today.
You Don't Speak American
One of my co-workers in a nearby cube said this:
"Well, you know, she's half British, and half English, so you KNOW she's not very bright."
And my Ugly Judge kicked in with this thought:
YOU'RE not very bright, you 100% AMERICAN idiot.
"Well, you know, she's half British, and half English, so you KNOW she's not very bright."
And my Ugly Judge kicked in with this thought:
YOU'RE not very bright, you 100% AMERICAN idiot.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Grandly Fatigued
I'm so grandly fatigued today. Last night, I told my family I was going to bed at 8. My wife asked me to stay up and play, so I did. It's rare that I say no to my wife (plus, it was her birthday).
Life seems to be extra weighty today. And yesterday. And this whole year, actually. Extra heavy and hard to lug around.
It weighs me down to hear about the Boston Marathon tragedy, with 3 people dead and over 100 injured.
It weighs me down to deal with my wife's ex. A LOT it weighs me down.
It weighs me down to have dreams about the ex talking to our 12-year-old.
It weighs me down to see our 12-year-old feeling trapped by his father and not knowing how to help him.
It weighs me down to hear about the sequester that might affect my job.
It weighs me down to have been passed over for promotion twice, when I was told that it was almost a guaranty.
It weighs me down to have so little money.
It weighs me down that I can't afford glasses for my wife.
It weighs me down that I can't afford to buy food for my family, so on top of the fatigue we're all already feeling, we cook dinner every night, which is more energy and more time.
It weighs me down that we go without soda.
It weighs me down that we go without toilet paper sometimes.
It weighs me down that I didn't make the chocolate mousse pie for my wife's birthday that I wanted to.
Taxes.
Job.
Ex and his new wife and the war that continues (I wonder if this is anything like the Middle East: one side has decided not to fight anymore without surrendering, but the other side simply won't stop fighting, so they continue to fight, even though one side continues to say it's not fighting... and the world watches, trying to stay uninvolved, not really caring about what's going on but really just wanting it to stop. He's a goddam waste of sperm and a poster child for why abortions should continue to be legal, and sometimes be mandatory).
I can't sleep.
I can't stay awake.
I can't get my head to calm down.
I can't bring peace to my wife, or my boys, or myself.
My arm hurts.
My tail bone hurts.
Life seems to be extra weighty today. And yesterday. And this whole year, actually. Extra heavy and hard to lug around.
It weighs me down to hear about the Boston Marathon tragedy, with 3 people dead and over 100 injured.
It weighs me down to deal with my wife's ex. A LOT it weighs me down.
It weighs me down to have dreams about the ex talking to our 12-year-old.
It weighs me down to see our 12-year-old feeling trapped by his father and not knowing how to help him.
It weighs me down to hear about the sequester that might affect my job.
It weighs me down to have been passed over for promotion twice, when I was told that it was almost a guaranty.
It weighs me down to have so little money.
It weighs me down that I can't afford glasses for my wife.
It weighs me down that I can't afford to buy food for my family, so on top of the fatigue we're all already feeling, we cook dinner every night, which is more energy and more time.
It weighs me down that we go without soda.
It weighs me down that we go without toilet paper sometimes.
It weighs me down that I didn't make the chocolate mousse pie for my wife's birthday that I wanted to.
Taxes.
Job.
Ex and his new wife and the war that continues (I wonder if this is anything like the Middle East: one side has decided not to fight anymore without surrendering, but the other side simply won't stop fighting, so they continue to fight, even though one side continues to say it's not fighting... and the world watches, trying to stay uninvolved, not really caring about what's going on but really just wanting it to stop. He's a goddam waste of sperm and a poster child for why abortions should continue to be legal, and sometimes be mandatory).
I can't sleep.
I can't stay awake.
I can't get my head to calm down.
I can't bring peace to my wife, or my boys, or myself.
My arm hurts.
My tail bone hurts.
I wanna sleepwalk
And kill all the guilty people
The people without empathy
The people without conscience
I wanna sleepwalk
And end the suffering
So that when I wake
It will all have been an ended dream
That will quickly fade into nothing.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Being Positive for 2014
I know it's important to look at the positive, and Silver Linings and all that and blah blah blah...
But 2013 can really suck my twelve inch clit.
Seriously.
I'm ready for this year to be done, for real, and just start next year already.
The silver lining of 2013 is that it won't always be 2013. This year has been the shits.
But 2013 can really suck my twelve inch clit.
Seriously.
I'm ready for this year to be done, for real, and just start next year already.
The silver lining of 2013 is that it won't always be 2013. This year has been the shits.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Adaptation vs Evolution
Charles Darwin and Alfred Wallace were the first to formulate a scientific argument for the theory of evolution by means of natural selection. Evolution by natural selection is a process that is inferred from three facts about populations: 1) more offspring are produced than can possibly survive, 2) traits vary among individuals, leading to different rates of survival and reproduction, and 3) trait differences are heritable.[4] Thus, when members of a population die they are replaced by the progeny of parents that were better adapted to survive and reproduce in the environment in which natural selection took place. This process creates and preserves traits that are seemingly fitted for the functional roles they perform.[5] Natural selection is the only known cause of adaptation, but not the only known cause of evolution.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Evolution
In other words, the more we close down schools and cut funding to education and the arts, the more uneducated individuals we produce. The more uneducated individuals we produce, the more offspring they produce who carry on the genetics of those uneducated parents, as well as adapt to the behaviors and thought patterns of the uneducated. The more uneducated people there are, the more our society adapts to the needs and concerns of the uneducated.
In brief, America keeps getting dumber and dumber.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Evolution
In other words, the more we close down schools and cut funding to education and the arts, the more uneducated individuals we produce. The more uneducated individuals we produce, the more offspring they produce who carry on the genetics of those uneducated parents, as well as adapt to the behaviors and thought patterns of the uneducated. The more uneducated people there are, the more our society adapts to the needs and concerns of the uneducated.
In brief, America keeps getting dumber and dumber.
Empath
The Forest Whitaker character in the movie Species is brought along in the story because he is an empath. He can feel the emotions of others and give reasons for those emotions. Many times he feels the emotions of others so intensely that it hurts him.
I was immediately drawn to that character, feeling like I had something in common with him. Maybe I don't have the supernatural abilities that he has, but I certainly do understand that character and felt connected to him the moment he explained what it was that he was able to do.
I often feel like I feel the emotions of others too much. In my head, this is "care". I care about the man on the street without a home because I feel what I imagine he's feeling. I care about my wife, which causes me to feel her pain when she's sick or sad. I care about my kids, so I feel their pains.
I don't think I'm doing it right. I think I'm taking on too much. I think there's probably a way to care about people without emotionally sharing their hurts. I think there's got to be a way to live in the world without feeling badly for everyone always. If there isn't a way to do that, I'm gonna be on medication for the rest of my life. Maybe I'll be medicated for the rest of my life anyway.
I don't want to feel others' emotional pain anymore. And if I have to, I want to figure out how to deal with it in myself better. I wish Charles Xavier had a school where he could help me learn how to use my mutant abilities to help people and battle Magneto. Man, I'd like to be an X-Man.
I was immediately drawn to that character, feeling like I had something in common with him. Maybe I don't have the supernatural abilities that he has, but I certainly do understand that character and felt connected to him the moment he explained what it was that he was able to do.
I often feel like I feel the emotions of others too much. In my head, this is "care". I care about the man on the street without a home because I feel what I imagine he's feeling. I care about my wife, which causes me to feel her pain when she's sick or sad. I care about my kids, so I feel their pains.
I don't think I'm doing it right. I think I'm taking on too much. I think there's probably a way to care about people without emotionally sharing their hurts. I think there's got to be a way to live in the world without feeling badly for everyone always. If there isn't a way to do that, I'm gonna be on medication for the rest of my life. Maybe I'll be medicated for the rest of my life anyway.
I don't want to feel others' emotional pain anymore. And if I have to, I want to figure out how to deal with it in myself better. I wish Charles Xavier had a school where he could help me learn how to use my mutant abilities to help people and battle Magneto. Man, I'd like to be an X-Man.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
hypocrisy
you brandish your beliefs like they're a holy weapon
don't be who you are is your real lesson
ye without sin should cast the first stone
but you come from sin the moment you're born
you loudly proclaim that your god is great
but then you use his name to justify your hate
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Money Is So Goddam Dumb
I'm having a super hard time being an adult today.
I work a full time job that doesn't pay enough to support my family. My wife has a part-time job, and that helps, but we still don't really make enough to get by.
So I took a second job. And my wife took a second job. And together, we were able to make ends meet.
Or so we thought.
Turns out, my second job actually cost us money in the long run. Because of the way my second job was operating (very similar to the way my wife's previous job was operating), I end up owing taxes at the end of the year. So when we thought we were making ends meet... we weren't. In fact, and this isn't hyperbole, I was losing money by having that second job. If I had gotten a legitimate job, I would have been fine. But now I have to scramble to find deductions I can make so that I don't end up owing more money than I will be able to make the whole year!
I work hard, and we don't make enough. I work harder, and we have less than that. I can't get ahead. I don't understand this system and I don't know what to do so that my kids can have clothes, my wife can get some goddam glasses, and I can get a diet Pepsi every morning so that I can have enough fuel to keep going through the goddam day. I don't know what I'm doing wrong, except maybe listening to the people who keep telling me that I'm doing it wrong and all I need to do is work harder and save more. If I work harder and save more, I end up spending more money than I just worked for. It's a losing battle. I can't win. I don't know what to read or study or do. I don't know what kind of job to get or what kind of degree I need. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure my family and myself are taken care of, but this is absolutely ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. "The poor get poorer, and the rich get richer." Yeah, you can say that again. And if I knew how to make it to the flip side of that sentence, you can be damn sure that I would stay there as long as I could and make sure that nothing flipped back over. I worked 50 hours of overtime last month. That's one week and one day more than normal. And it's all gone. We haven't even gotten paid for all of it yet, but it's all gone already. Almost like I was never at my office for an extra hour every day. Almost like I was never at my office on two of my days off. Almost like it never happened. My work doesn't look any better. I'm not any closer to a promotion. I don't have any extra money to show for it, or clothes, or food, or a goddam ice cream. I get to pay the attorney who did my fucking taxes for us who ends up telling us that we're going to owe the goddam government. That same government who is currently not voting on gun control measures because the fucking Republicans won't allow a goddam vote through their goddam filibuster. But they take all our money to sit there and not vote. To sit there and not do their job. One. Hundred. Seventy. Four. THOUSAND. Dollars. Every. Year. $174,000. That's their STARTING pay. And they work approximately half the year-- 150 days. And their salary comes from me. And you. And I can't take my family out to McDonald's tonight even if we wanted to go. And they make this for four goddam years! If you cut their pay by $100,000 a year, they would STILL be making more than double my annual income! And they work HALF the time as I do! So it's almost like they're getting paid FOUR TIMES WHAT I MAKE! TO DO NOTHING!!!
I just wanna live under a rock. Where nobody can see me. Or hear me. Or see me. I'm just so goddam dumb.
I work a full time job that doesn't pay enough to support my family. My wife has a part-time job, and that helps, but we still don't really make enough to get by.
So I took a second job. And my wife took a second job. And together, we were able to make ends meet.
Or so we thought.
Turns out, my second job actually cost us money in the long run. Because of the way my second job was operating (very similar to the way my wife's previous job was operating), I end up owing taxes at the end of the year. So when we thought we were making ends meet... we weren't. In fact, and this isn't hyperbole, I was losing money by having that second job. If I had gotten a legitimate job, I would have been fine. But now I have to scramble to find deductions I can make so that I don't end up owing more money than I will be able to make the whole year!
I work hard, and we don't make enough. I work harder, and we have less than that. I can't get ahead. I don't understand this system and I don't know what to do so that my kids can have clothes, my wife can get some goddam glasses, and I can get a diet Pepsi every morning so that I can have enough fuel to keep going through the goddam day. I don't know what I'm doing wrong, except maybe listening to the people who keep telling me that I'm doing it wrong and all I need to do is work harder and save more. If I work harder and save more, I end up spending more money than I just worked for. It's a losing battle. I can't win. I don't know what to read or study or do. I don't know what kind of job to get or what kind of degree I need. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure my family and myself are taken care of, but this is absolutely ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. "The poor get poorer, and the rich get richer." Yeah, you can say that again. And if I knew how to make it to the flip side of that sentence, you can be damn sure that I would stay there as long as I could and make sure that nothing flipped back over. I worked 50 hours of overtime last month. That's one week and one day more than normal. And it's all gone. We haven't even gotten paid for all of it yet, but it's all gone already. Almost like I was never at my office for an extra hour every day. Almost like I was never at my office on two of my days off. Almost like it never happened. My work doesn't look any better. I'm not any closer to a promotion. I don't have any extra money to show for it, or clothes, or food, or a goddam ice cream. I get to pay the attorney who did my fucking taxes for us who ends up telling us that we're going to owe the goddam government. That same government who is currently not voting on gun control measures because the fucking Republicans won't allow a goddam vote through their goddam filibuster. But they take all our money to sit there and not vote. To sit there and not do their job. One. Hundred. Seventy. Four. THOUSAND. Dollars. Every. Year. $174,000. That's their STARTING pay. And they work approximately half the year-- 150 days. And their salary comes from me. And you. And I can't take my family out to McDonald's tonight even if we wanted to go. And they make this for four goddam years! If you cut their pay by $100,000 a year, they would STILL be making more than double my annual income! And they work HALF the time as I do! So it's almost like they're getting paid FOUR TIMES WHAT I MAKE! TO DO NOTHING!!!
I just wanna live under a rock. Where nobody can see me. Or hear me. Or see me. I'm just so goddam dumb.
The Cavemen
There was a group of cavemen who lived in a cave on the side of a large volcano. Everyone lived in the same cave, and everyone was happy.
One day, the volcano erupted. Ug gathered his family in the cave. "We all must stay here," said Ug. "If we go outside we will be in danger!" Those close enough to hear Ug agreed, if they left they would be in danger of being burned by the volcano. Gu gathered his family on the other side of the cave. "We must leave the cave," said Gu. "If we stay here, the lava from the volcano will run into the cave and kill us all." Those around Gu agreed, if they stayed in the cave they would be burned by the volcano.
Gu's family left the cave, and some other families followed them. Ug's family stayed in the cave, and some other families stayed with them.
The volcano erupted, and lava flowed into the cave, and some of the people in the cave died. The volcano also threw large chunks of ash and molten rock, and some of those who left the cave died.
After the volcano settled down, Gu and his followers returned to the cave to see if it could still be used to shelter them. They found some of Ug's followers inside the cave. Both men became angry at the other.
"You stayed in the cave and let people die!" said Gu, angered that some of his friends who had stayed in the cave were now dead. Ug was equally mad.
"You left the cave and let people die!" said Ug, who felt deeply saddened that some of his friends had left the cave and were now dead.
"I left the cave because it seemed like the right thing to do," said Gu.
"I stayed in the cave because it seemed like the right thing to do," said Ug.
"I felt it was the right thing to do because my god told me so," said Gu. "And he's more powerful than you."
"My god told me to stay in the cave," said Ug, "and he saved me and many others who believe in him!"
"My god saved me!" shouted Gu, "and all those faithful to my god were saved with me!"
Just then, Elizabeth came out of a hole in the floor of the cave.
"Please stop your shouting," said Elizabeth. "I have devised a way to be protected from the volcano. My family and I have dug a hole and covered it with a large stone that was thrown from the volcano. The stone doesn't melt or get too hot when the lava flows over the top of it, and our hole is deep enough so that we're able to access the fresh water supply under the cave and live comfortably and safely down there for many years. You are all welcome to join us down here where it is safe and comfortable."
"Who told you to build this hole?" asked Gu and Ug in amazement.
"Nobody told me to build the hole," Elizabeth responded. "I saw the problems that were coming, and I figured it out on my own."
Gu and Ug immediately killed Elizabeth. Then they killed her family. "Our god is more powerful than your hole," they both said.
Ug started to hurry his followers into Elizabeth's hole. "How stupid Gu's followers are," Ug thought. "They think their god saved them when they were out of the cave, but they have no true faith, which is why they are going into this hole inside our cave." Gu pushed his followers into the hole Elizabeth had made. "How stupid Ug's followers are," Gu thought. "They believe their god saved them in the cave. But they don't have true faith, which is why they're going into this hole rather than staying in their cave." And as both Ug and Gu washed Elizabeth's blood off their hands in the cool water they found deep in the hole, they silently felt better, knowing that everyone else was safe following them. They were the smartest cavemen. The best ones to lead. The best ones to keep everyone safe. They knew they were, they were certain they were, because their god had protected them. And with that, they were protected from the volcano inside the hole Elizabeth had made.
One day, the volcano erupted. Ug gathered his family in the cave. "We all must stay here," said Ug. "If we go outside we will be in danger!" Those close enough to hear Ug agreed, if they left they would be in danger of being burned by the volcano. Gu gathered his family on the other side of the cave. "We must leave the cave," said Gu. "If we stay here, the lava from the volcano will run into the cave and kill us all." Those around Gu agreed, if they stayed in the cave they would be burned by the volcano.
Gu's family left the cave, and some other families followed them. Ug's family stayed in the cave, and some other families stayed with them.
The volcano erupted, and lava flowed into the cave, and some of the people in the cave died. The volcano also threw large chunks of ash and molten rock, and some of those who left the cave died.
After the volcano settled down, Gu and his followers returned to the cave to see if it could still be used to shelter them. They found some of Ug's followers inside the cave. Both men became angry at the other.
"You stayed in the cave and let people die!" said Gu, angered that some of his friends who had stayed in the cave were now dead. Ug was equally mad.
"You left the cave and let people die!" said Ug, who felt deeply saddened that some of his friends had left the cave and were now dead.
"I left the cave because it seemed like the right thing to do," said Gu.
"I stayed in the cave because it seemed like the right thing to do," said Ug.
"I felt it was the right thing to do because my god told me so," said Gu. "And he's more powerful than you."
"My god told me to stay in the cave," said Ug, "and he saved me and many others who believe in him!"
"My god saved me!" shouted Gu, "and all those faithful to my god were saved with me!"
Just then, Elizabeth came out of a hole in the floor of the cave.
"Please stop your shouting," said Elizabeth. "I have devised a way to be protected from the volcano. My family and I have dug a hole and covered it with a large stone that was thrown from the volcano. The stone doesn't melt or get too hot when the lava flows over the top of it, and our hole is deep enough so that we're able to access the fresh water supply under the cave and live comfortably and safely down there for many years. You are all welcome to join us down here where it is safe and comfortable."
"Who told you to build this hole?" asked Gu and Ug in amazement.
"Nobody told me to build the hole," Elizabeth responded. "I saw the problems that were coming, and I figured it out on my own."
Gu and Ug immediately killed Elizabeth. Then they killed her family. "Our god is more powerful than your hole," they both said.
Ug started to hurry his followers into Elizabeth's hole. "How stupid Gu's followers are," Ug thought. "They think their god saved them when they were out of the cave, but they have no true faith, which is why they are going into this hole inside our cave." Gu pushed his followers into the hole Elizabeth had made. "How stupid Ug's followers are," Gu thought. "They believe their god saved them in the cave. But they don't have true faith, which is why they're going into this hole rather than staying in their cave." And as both Ug and Gu washed Elizabeth's blood off their hands in the cool water they found deep in the hole, they silently felt better, knowing that everyone else was safe following them. They were the smartest cavemen. The best ones to lead. The best ones to keep everyone safe. They knew they were, they were certain they were, because their god had protected them. And with that, they were protected from the volcano inside the hole Elizabeth had made.
What To Ask For At Christmas
I heard a news story this morning about poor children and what they ask for at Christmas time. Typically, poor children ask for blankets, toothbrushes, and gifts to be given to others. My god, if we could just teach these poor children that this really isn't the way to succeed. A blanket is not an asset, and certainly giving your gift to others is not an asset. We need to teach those children to ask for market shares, especially stocks in banks and oil futures. These are the kinds of things that allow people to prosper. Not blankets. Not toothbrushes. Seriously, after making your first million betting on banks that are "too big to fail", you'll be able to buy a couple of toothbrushes. Hell, you'll be able to have as much oral surgery as you want to pay for all the brushing you didn't do while you were waiting for your investments to make a return. But you won't be able to have a return on your investment if you ask Santa for a blanket. Jesus, what are we teaching our young and impoverished??
Please Shoot Your Guns
I believe it's time for all responsible gun owners in America to do the responsible thing and use their God-Given-Second-Amendment-Protected Right to Bear Arms for some kind of good. It's not right that so many people are suggesting that the world is a safer place without all these guns, and all gun owners should show the world how much safer the world will be once everyone who opposes them are dead. So I think all gun owners should use their guns for good. After all, if you put a gun in all the good guys' hands, the world will be safer, right?? So let's get all the "good guys" together with their guns and start using those good tools to do some good. Start killing people who want to take away your guns, aka Tools Of Good, and show everybody how much less gun violence there is once you've killed all the people how say that guns produce more gun use. Show them that with more guns, we can use our guns less!! Go Show Them and shoot those guns at people and let's see some substance behind your words!
Good Mother
She went to the football game to support Her son.
She made Her son with an abusive man, Her ex-husband.
Her ex-husband punishes Her children when they talk to Her.
He interrogates them, abuses them, and lets them know there will be more punishment when they talk with Her. He lets them know there will be more punishment if they go against him in any way, and he tells them that She is against him.
Her ex-husband always ignores Her when he's around Her in person. He treats Her as if She is evil.
He has married a woman who believes what he tells her, so she believes She is evil.
She has a mother who has been abusive all Her life.
When She was pregnant with Her first child and sick to the point of vomiting and exhaustion, Her mother made Her wax her car.
These people have brought a legal suit against Her, saying She is a bad Mother.
This legal matter has been going on, in one form or another, for the past five years, perpetuated by Her ex-husbands continual aggressions.
In spite of all of this, She sent Her eldest son with his step-father to play paintball for his birthday, while She went, alone, to a football game to support Her youngest son.
She sat, alone, watching Her son play a version of football where he did nothing kneel down and stand up.
She sat, alone and persecuted, as She watched Her ex-husband, his current wife, and his sister, loudly proclaim how happy they were. She sat alone, knowing that She was being persecuted, and knowing that this show wasn't real. This show was not about enjoyment or actual love and support. This show was an attack on Her directly. To make others see how awful She is. How alone She is. How much Her son loves being around his father and his father's support group of friends and family members. How much She is not a part of that happiness, and that is why She should not be allowed to be around them anymore. Legally.
She saw Her mother, and She waved at Her mother. Her mother looked at Her. Her mother did not wave back to Her. Her mother did not acknowledge Her. At all. Her mother supports the man who is trying to show the world that She is evil.
And She knew all of this before going to the football game.
But She went to support her son.
And after the game, She went to say hello to Her son.
He barely said anything to Her.
He didn't make eye contact with Her.
He was continuously looking at his father and step-mother, the people who would abuse him if he talked with Her.
She asked him if he had any fun plans after the game, and he told Her that he didn't.
But She overheard plans being made, with her son's involvement.
She was actively being pushed out of Her son's life.
And Her son was part of it.
Her son was blowing Her off so that he wouldn't be punished later.
But he was still blowing Her off.
And that doesn't feel good.
Especially when She came to support him.
And She was comforted by Her mother-in-law who had come to support Her and Her son.
Her mother-in-law was very supportive to Her.
But Her mother-in-law's support was one thing.
Being blown off by Her son in favor of a gang of people who was trying to hurt Her and Her family was something else.
Something She couldn't escape.
Something She couldn't stop.
Something She really couldn't ignore.
At least, She couldn't figure out how to stop it, escape it, or ignore it.
If there was a way to do that, it eluded Her, Her husband, his family, his therapist, Her lawyers, the counselors at all of the schools Her children attended.
She had to put up with it. Or else She had to let Her children go.
And She was not about to let Her children go.
Because She is a Good Mother.
Just like Her mother-in-law.
And all of this happened one week before Her birthday.
She made Her son with an abusive man, Her ex-husband.
Her ex-husband punishes Her children when they talk to Her.
He interrogates them, abuses them, and lets them know there will be more punishment when they talk with Her. He lets them know there will be more punishment if they go against him in any way, and he tells them that She is against him.
Her ex-husband always ignores Her when he's around Her in person. He treats Her as if She is evil.
He has married a woman who believes what he tells her, so she believes She is evil.
She has a mother who has been abusive all Her life.
When She was pregnant with Her first child and sick to the point of vomiting and exhaustion, Her mother made Her wax her car.
These people have brought a legal suit against Her, saying She is a bad Mother.
This legal matter has been going on, in one form or another, for the past five years, perpetuated by Her ex-husbands continual aggressions.
In spite of all of this, She sent Her eldest son with his step-father to play paintball for his birthday, while She went, alone, to a football game to support Her youngest son.
She sat, alone, watching Her son play a version of football where he did nothing kneel down and stand up.
She sat, alone and persecuted, as She watched Her ex-husband, his current wife, and his sister, loudly proclaim how happy they were. She sat alone, knowing that She was being persecuted, and knowing that this show wasn't real. This show was not about enjoyment or actual love and support. This show was an attack on Her directly. To make others see how awful She is. How alone She is. How much Her son loves being around his father and his father's support group of friends and family members. How much She is not a part of that happiness, and that is why She should not be allowed to be around them anymore. Legally.
She saw Her mother, and She waved at Her mother. Her mother looked at Her. Her mother did not wave back to Her. Her mother did not acknowledge Her. At all. Her mother supports the man who is trying to show the world that She is evil.
And She knew all of this before going to the football game.
But She went to support her son.
And after the game, She went to say hello to Her son.
He barely said anything to Her.
He didn't make eye contact with Her.
He was continuously looking at his father and step-mother, the people who would abuse him if he talked with Her.
She asked him if he had any fun plans after the game, and he told Her that he didn't.
But She overheard plans being made, with her son's involvement.
She was actively being pushed out of Her son's life.
And Her son was part of it.
Her son was blowing Her off so that he wouldn't be punished later.
But he was still blowing Her off.
And that doesn't feel good.
Especially when She came to support him.
And She was comforted by Her mother-in-law who had come to support Her and Her son.
Her mother-in-law was very supportive to Her.
But Her mother-in-law's support was one thing.
Being blown off by Her son in favor of a gang of people who was trying to hurt Her and Her family was something else.
Something She couldn't escape.
Something She couldn't stop.
Something She really couldn't ignore.
At least, She couldn't figure out how to stop it, escape it, or ignore it.
If there was a way to do that, it eluded Her, Her husband, his family, his therapist, Her lawyers, the counselors at all of the schools Her children attended.
She had to put up with it. Or else She had to let Her children go.
And She was not about to let Her children go.
Because She is a Good Mother.
Just like Her mother-in-law.
And all of this happened one week before Her birthday.
Caring For People
A Man broke his leg, so he went to the Doctor. The Doctor said, "I see you have a broken leg."
"Yes," said the Man. "Can you help me?"
"Yes," said the Doctor. "What I can do is help you. I can make your leg heal. But I need to be compensated with money in order to help you."
"I have money," said the Man. "I have the best insurance on the market. I can afford to pay those bills monthly. I can afford the co-pays, which is the amount of money I have to pay of my own after I have paid for the insurance that covers some of the health care costs. I can pay for the hospital stay the is required for the best care of my health so that I can be monitored by professionals. And I can afford to take the time off of my job, which doesn't pay me hourly, but gives me paid time off so that I can allow life to happen and my leg to break without being punished for the time away from work. I also have investments that I was able to afford to buy which bring in income for me without any work on my part."
"Good," said the Doctor. "I will help you."
The next day, a Woman was taken to the doctor. She had broken her leg.
"Can you help me?" asked the Woman.
"Yes," said the Doctor. "I can care for you. But I need to be compensated with money to provide care."
"I have the best insurance I could afford to buy," said the Woman.
"I see that," said the Doctor. "Your insurance pays the costs associated with sitting in this examination room. Your insurance pays for you to talk with me. Your insurance pays for me to tell you your leg is broken. Your insurance does not pay for anything more. I need money if I am going to care for you."
"I had to take time away from work," said the Woman, "in order to come here today. When I take time away from work, I don't get paid. I have no money."
"I need money," said the Doctor. "If you do not have money, I cannot care for you." The Doctor walked away from the Woman with a broken leg.
The next day, a Child was taken to the doctor. He had a broken leg. He was turned away before talking to the Doctor, because he had no money, no insurance, and no job. He was of no consequence to the Doctor, for there was no way to make money by caring for the Child.
"Yes," said the Man. "Can you help me?"
"Yes," said the Doctor. "What I can do is help you. I can make your leg heal. But I need to be compensated with money in order to help you."
"I have money," said the Man. "I have the best insurance on the market. I can afford to pay those bills monthly. I can afford the co-pays, which is the amount of money I have to pay of my own after I have paid for the insurance that covers some of the health care costs. I can pay for the hospital stay the is required for the best care of my health so that I can be monitored by professionals. And I can afford to take the time off of my job, which doesn't pay me hourly, but gives me paid time off so that I can allow life to happen and my leg to break without being punished for the time away from work. I also have investments that I was able to afford to buy which bring in income for me without any work on my part."
"Good," said the Doctor. "I will help you."
The next day, a Woman was taken to the doctor. She had broken her leg.
"Can you help me?" asked the Woman.
"Yes," said the Doctor. "I can care for you. But I need to be compensated with money to provide care."
"I have the best insurance I could afford to buy," said the Woman.
"I see that," said the Doctor. "Your insurance pays the costs associated with sitting in this examination room. Your insurance pays for you to talk with me. Your insurance pays for me to tell you your leg is broken. Your insurance does not pay for anything more. I need money if I am going to care for you."
"I had to take time away from work," said the Woman, "in order to come here today. When I take time away from work, I don't get paid. I have no money."
"I need money," said the Doctor. "If you do not have money, I cannot care for you." The Doctor walked away from the Woman with a broken leg.
The next day, a Child was taken to the doctor. He had a broken leg. He was turned away before talking to the Doctor, because he had no money, no insurance, and no job. He was of no consequence to the Doctor, for there was no way to make money by caring for the Child.
Monday, April 8, 2013
A Fictitious Reality
How many people do you know who have changed economic classes?
Going into my early childhood years, I could think of no one who had moved, one way or the other, from where they started with their parents money to where they are now with their own. A friend of mine came from a wealthy family of lawyers. He is now a wealthy lawyer. Another friend came from a wealthy family of politicians. He is now a wealthy politician. I came from a middle class family of teachers. I'm now middle class (my wife says we're middle class, I FEEL like we're lower class, but I realize that I was just able to play paintball with my 16-year-old yesterday, and lower class folks probably don't have the expendable resources to play paintball at all, so I'm gonna have to agree with my wife that we're middle class... despite my lower class feelings). I also had friends who had parents who were teachers, ministers, scholars, all of whom were not wealthy. And those kids grew up to be not wealthy.
So it stands to reason that the statement "if you work hard enough, you can become rich in America" either isn't true, or a lot of people just don't want to work. And just to give you an idea of the caliber of people I'm talking about, my graduating high school class had one valedictorian, and three salutatorians. All four of those kids came from middle class families, and all four of them continue to be middle class.
I only know three people who have changed economic classes since I've known them. All of them are actors. All of them started at low class status. All of them got contracts to perform on television. And that's when all of them became rich.
I feel a little consumed with finances lately. I believe it's because I've found what I want to do, and it isn't a job. Most of my life, I've wanted to be an actor. Now, I just want to sit with my wife. I think I could be very, very content to just lay in a bed for the rest of my life with my wife and snuggle. And no nothing else. But that job pays for shit. So I gotta get a job that will make me independently wealthy, so I can quit my job and lay around with my wife. I think that's where my preoccupation with money is coming from lately. If I could simply lay in a bed with my wife, I'd be good. And that's hard to do when I'm working 12 hours a day.
Anyway, I thought it was interesting that not many people in my world have moved much in the whole economic scheme of things. I would have imagined that more people would have become rich. Then again, it's only recently that I'm really starting to question the fictitious reality that I've been told to believe in. The fictitious reality we've all been told to believe in.
Going into my early childhood years, I could think of no one who had moved, one way or the other, from where they started with their parents money to where they are now with their own. A friend of mine came from a wealthy family of lawyers. He is now a wealthy lawyer. Another friend came from a wealthy family of politicians. He is now a wealthy politician. I came from a middle class family of teachers. I'm now middle class (my wife says we're middle class, I FEEL like we're lower class, but I realize that I was just able to play paintball with my 16-year-old yesterday, and lower class folks probably don't have the expendable resources to play paintball at all, so I'm gonna have to agree with my wife that we're middle class... despite my lower class feelings). I also had friends who had parents who were teachers, ministers, scholars, all of whom were not wealthy. And those kids grew up to be not wealthy.
So it stands to reason that the statement "if you work hard enough, you can become rich in America" either isn't true, or a lot of people just don't want to work. And just to give you an idea of the caliber of people I'm talking about, my graduating high school class had one valedictorian, and three salutatorians. All four of those kids came from middle class families, and all four of them continue to be middle class.
I only know three people who have changed economic classes since I've known them. All of them are actors. All of them started at low class status. All of them got contracts to perform on television. And that's when all of them became rich.
I feel a little consumed with finances lately. I believe it's because I've found what I want to do, and it isn't a job. Most of my life, I've wanted to be an actor. Now, I just want to sit with my wife. I think I could be very, very content to just lay in a bed for the rest of my life with my wife and snuggle. And no nothing else. But that job pays for shit. So I gotta get a job that will make me independently wealthy, so I can quit my job and lay around with my wife. I think that's where my preoccupation with money is coming from lately. If I could simply lay in a bed with my wife, I'd be good. And that's hard to do when I'm working 12 hours a day.
Anyway, I thought it was interesting that not many people in my world have moved much in the whole economic scheme of things. I would have imagined that more people would have become rich. Then again, it's only recently that I'm really starting to question the fictitious reality that I've been told to believe in. The fictitious reality we've all been told to believe in.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
loop in my head
so many people don't like me
i've made so many, many mistakes
i am not good
i can't get it out of my head.
endless looping.
i've made so many, many mistakes
i am not good
i can't get it out of my head.
endless looping.
Time To Hunt Democrats
In response to ever-increasing gun violence, including recent high-profile massacres leaving movie patrons and schoolchildren and teachers slaughtered, President Obama has pressed states to enact tougher gun control legislation. Measures designed to protect American citizens and our children.
Reacting to Obama’s speech in Colorado calling for universal background checks and smaller ammunition clips, Rocky Mountain Gun Owners, led by Dudley Brown, said that universal background checks are just a step towards identifying gun owners so the government can seize their weapons, and placing a 15-bullet limit on ammunition clips is arbitrary.
“I liken it to the proverbial hunting season, Brown says. “We tell gun owners, there’s a time to hunt deer. And the next election is the time to hunt Democrats.”
So here’s the summary:
1. Adults and children get gunned down in massive numbers every year.
2. President Obama tries to help the situation.
3. Dudley Brown says that those people who want to save lives should be hunted like deer.
Why in the world is this kind of madness and stupidity being tolerated and listened to?
Reference: http://www.npr.org/2013/04/03/176098278/outrage-alone-wont-advance-gun-control-measures
Reacting to Obama’s speech in Colorado calling for universal background checks and smaller ammunition clips, Rocky Mountain Gun Owners, led by Dudley Brown, said that universal background checks are just a step towards identifying gun owners so the government can seize their weapons, and placing a 15-bullet limit on ammunition clips is arbitrary.
“I liken it to the proverbial hunting season, Brown says. “We tell gun owners, there’s a time to hunt deer. And the next election is the time to hunt Democrats.”
So here’s the summary:
1. Adults and children get gunned down in massive numbers every year.
2. President Obama tries to help the situation.
3. Dudley Brown says that those people who want to save lives should be hunted like deer.
Why in the world is this kind of madness and stupidity being tolerated and listened to?
Reference: http://www.npr.org/2013/04/03/176098278/outrage-alone-wont-advance-gun-control-measures
Monday, April 1, 2013
Jesus Loves Me...
Yes, Jesus loves me
Yes, Jesus loves me
Yes, Jesus loves me
For the Bible tells me so.
Unless I'm gay.
Yes, Jesus loves me
Yes, Jesus loves me
For the Bible tells me so.
Unless I'm gay.
Paintball Dream
It’s a disturbing day dream. Disturbing, and lovely.
Our youngest talked with his father last night, who told him that they would be going to play paintball on Saturday with their church group because it was free. My wife tells me that church groups budget these kinds of free trips to lure people into their churches. Our eldest and I had already planned to play paintball this Saturday. That would put the four of us there together, on two different teams. Me and our eldest. Our youngest and his father.
My daydream starts after we’re all there and geared up. And as we’re walking to the field, I shoot Buttleak in the butt. He gets mad and turns around, so I shoot him in the dick. They tell me to stop, but maybe I shoot him again in the dick, really close, pretending that I don’t know any better. I’m not around guns much, I tell them, I don’t know how these things work. Then we get out on the field, and the horn blows, and I sprint towards him. Yeah, I get hit over and over again, and I don’t care. The game relies on compliance: you get shot and then you comply with the rules saying you raise your gun above your head and walk off the field. But I have other plans. And as I’m repeatedly shot with paintballs, I bee-line to Buttleak and tackle him to the ground by breaking his knee. He goes down, and I go down on top of him, as I repeatedly bash him in the dick over and over and over again until I can see the blood stain on his pants. And then I start working his face and don’t stop until his face is wrecked. Completely wrecked. Just a mass of loosely pieced together flesh and sinus, held together by strings of skin that haven’t been ripped apart yet. And then I shoot him in the mouth over and over and over and over again. And I laugh. Oh, how I laugh. As the game refs come over and say something completely stupid like, “This isn’t part of the game.” Yeah, it is part of the game. And I laugh and smile at the sky that welcomes me.
And then the daydream begins again. Like a DVD on repeat. Making me tense and anxious, as well as relieving some of the tension and anxiety with every mental tackle. With every imagined crack of kneecap as it breaks. With every pound of my gun into his crotch, sounding like the beating of a wet, soggy sponge being pounded free of its blood liquid. And I laugh. And the DVD repeats.
Our youngest talked with his father last night, who told him that they would be going to play paintball on Saturday with their church group because it was free. My wife tells me that church groups budget these kinds of free trips to lure people into their churches. Our eldest and I had already planned to play paintball this Saturday. That would put the four of us there together, on two different teams. Me and our eldest. Our youngest and his father.
My daydream starts after we’re all there and geared up. And as we’re walking to the field, I shoot Buttleak in the butt. He gets mad and turns around, so I shoot him in the dick. They tell me to stop, but maybe I shoot him again in the dick, really close, pretending that I don’t know any better. I’m not around guns much, I tell them, I don’t know how these things work. Then we get out on the field, and the horn blows, and I sprint towards him. Yeah, I get hit over and over again, and I don’t care. The game relies on compliance: you get shot and then you comply with the rules saying you raise your gun above your head and walk off the field. But I have other plans. And as I’m repeatedly shot with paintballs, I bee-line to Buttleak and tackle him to the ground by breaking his knee. He goes down, and I go down on top of him, as I repeatedly bash him in the dick over and over and over again until I can see the blood stain on his pants. And then I start working his face and don’t stop until his face is wrecked. Completely wrecked. Just a mass of loosely pieced together flesh and sinus, held together by strings of skin that haven’t been ripped apart yet. And then I shoot him in the mouth over and over and over and over again. And I laugh. Oh, how I laugh. As the game refs come over and say something completely stupid like, “This isn’t part of the game.” Yeah, it is part of the game. And I laugh and smile at the sky that welcomes me.
And then the daydream begins again. Like a DVD on repeat. Making me tense and anxious, as well as relieving some of the tension and anxiety with every mental tackle. With every imagined crack of kneecap as it breaks. With every pound of my gun into his crotch, sounding like the beating of a wet, soggy sponge being pounded free of its blood liquid. And I laugh. And the DVD repeats.