Take advice from fuckups.they're the only ones that can tell you about the bottom & how to avoid it

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Sunday, August 15, 2010

Monday, June 21, 2010

People To Meet?

Why is it so fucking impossible for me to find intelligent people to hang out with that aren't fucking creeps? Every time I think I've made a new friend that I can carry a decent conversation with they always have some kind of terrible personality defect or horrendous skeleton in their closet. "Hi. I'm going to ruin your week by telling you that I fuck bats and children." or "Oh, by the way, from here on out I'm going to say something sexually suggestive in nature or talk about porn every fifteen mintues." Let's not forget all of the crazy fucking idiosyncrasies that are too annoying and invasive to be quirky or cute, like "Disagree with me and watch me get pissy and pout," "I don't listen to other people or music when I'm at home,"...blahblahblah. UGH. It would be nice to just be able to find someone that likes to sit around, drink booze, and listen to music with without having to worry about getting hit on, being made uncomfortable with disturbing facts about the other person, being saturated and bombarded with their pretentiousness and haughtiness...fuck. How hard can it be? I miss my old bar.

Monday, June 14, 2010

YOU GONNA GET RAPED.

One day I woke up from a night of binge drinking in a half-drunken hangover haze to some fat teenage douche bag and his 40 year old black drug dealer trying to gangfuck me. I could hear the black dude egging the boy on. "You got her panties off, stick it in her..." he directed the impressionable adolescent. I didn't know if I was dreaming or not, and the weiner was rubbing against my clit. I almost involuntarily started to move my hips. I began to come to and realize that the black dude was actually forcing my fingers around his cock, and the boy was well on his way to entering me. I quickly dug my nails into the dick in my hand and shoved the other guy off of me the best I could in a drunken stupor. The white boy ran out the front door and the black guy ran back and hopped in bed with his girlfriend. I was left alone, de-panted and slightly traumatized.
I left the house and got a ride from a friend of mine to the hospital to have a rape kit exam done on me because as I was walking it became clear to me that something, I don't know what, but something, had indeed been in my asshole. I figured "That shit ain't cool, I'm gonna do something about this." The whole rape kit thing was as traumatizing as waking up to strange man's dick in my hand and after the nurse was finished performing the exam she informed me that I had two weeks to decide whether or not I was going to press charges, and that I couldn't receive the results of the procedure unless I did.
I still lived with my mom at the time, and for the next week she could tell something was up with me. She asked me what was wrong and I told her. Then, she replied with the most unexpected statement ever...
"Everybody gets raped."
I thought about it and came to the conclusion that she was kind of right. Looking back, almost every female I know has at some point had some variation of unwanted penetration forced on her. Maybe not "rape" in the traditional sense, but, well, I don't know what else you would call it. The drunken wake-up hover-fuck, the guy that won't quit groping you on the backroad who's your only way to get home that you fuck after being threatened to be put out of the vehicle to be eaten by coyoties, the sadsack bastard who acts like he's gonna commit suicide if you don't break him off a piece of pussy, etc. It's almost necrophilia. These dudes know that the girl they're screwing wants no part of the act and will most likely be a dead, dry, awkward fuck, but they don't care. It's as dishonourable as rape, if you ask me.
It never seems to matter how fat or conventionally unattractive these women are to most men, nor does it seem to matter how attractive or capable of getting laid the guy is. This happens to many girls and women of all shapes, colors, and sizes, just as it is difficult to determine the particulars of the male perpatrators. It's true. Most women, at some point in their life, will be in one way or another, for lack of a better term, "raped".
I didn't press charges on the kid or the other guy, which means that I never got the results of the rape kit back. I just wasn't enough of an evil bitch to ruin a couple of guys' lives that were doing something that it seems like a lot of guys do. However, I did beat the holy fuck out of a guy about a year and a half later that did it to some one I love...
and it felt oh so good.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Internet Identity

I've never really ever set up any profiles on the internet without giving away, either through photos or by disclosing my name, who I am in real life. Anytime I've attempted to do so I've always ended up giving in to the temptation of telling the world that I, Michelle Stone, am the person expressing the thoughts and feelings expressed through various blogs, message boards, and status-plugging sites. Why do I feel the need to suject myself to such deliberate lack of privacy? Is it some type of exhibitionism? Does it have something to do with the fact I've always wished I'd be widely known for something? Imean, it doesn't really make any sense. I feel terrible about myself in every area of my being, so why do I feel the need to own all of the crap that runs through my head? Why do I let people see my tits? Why do I make my aging face viewable to the world? I need to stop being so judgmental of people who don't understand me, especially on the internet, because I don't even "get" myself.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Bag Lady

I'm unravelling.

I can feel all rational thought fleeing my skull full of shit for brains.

Any sign of expression is absent from my face.

There's nothing left but the vacancy that exhaustion and insanity always seem to leave behind in a crazy person's eyes.

I'm broken, spent, and burnt to a frazzle.

I keep wondering if I should just check into some kind of hospital, but the last time I did that I ended up leaving even more traumatized than I was before I got checked in.

Besides the fact that I'm going batshit mad, all of the relationships I rely on to survive in a world that constantly rejects every attempt I make at being self-reliant and functional are falling apart.

I think it's safe to say that I'm as close as I've ever been to falling off the grid and disappearing into homeless and insane obscurity.

I saw this coming decades ago. I always remember telling adults that I was going to end up a smelly crazy bum when I was a child.

Every aspect of my self-worth is fading. It's to the point where I barely exist.

Eat.
Shit.
Cry.
Jack off.
Lie in the numbness of my auto-orgasms until it wears off and start all over again.

Nothing soothes me. I've worried myself into heart palpatations, tremors, vomiting, diahrrea, and cry headaches.

I was scolded today for "giving up".

What the fuck else can I do?

I'm so tired of having the proverbial door slammed in my face every time I try to accomplish anything.

I've sabotaged every role I've had the opporotunity to act out in my crummy fucking life.

Mother
Friend
Lover
Daughter
Sister

I'm trapped in my own existence. Yeah, I'm a pussy in that I just want an escape.

It looks like the only way I can be free is to escape myself. Become a walking caucophony. Completely let go of my ego, composure, and useless talents.

What say you?

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

New List Blog

Check out my new list blog here on blogspot.

http://mainliningilinerlistorama.blogspot.com/2010/06/fuck-t-pain-best-of-auto-tune.html

Monday, May 31, 2010

ALL OF MY READERS!!!

I don't care...here's my email ginger_kid138@yahoo.com

I don't know what's going on, but ALL of your comments have somehow been erased. I just thought that no one had been reading, but I've looked on to discover that the reason why no one has left any comments on my recent posts is because something is preventing everyone from commenting.

YOUR INPUT IS WHAT KEEPS ME DOING THIS, AND WHAT HELPS ME MAKE SENSE OF MYSELF.

If you have any comments you wish to leave me or have any kind of explaination for this, PLEASE, email me.

fondly,

Shelly.

Saturday, May 29, 2010

The Night

Whenever anyone I've been around has been afraid of the dark, I've always told them "There's nothing there in the dark that isn't there in the light."

But maybe the dark is for lack of better words "dark".

Is there really a more powerful presence of all things foreboding and evil in dark places?

In shadows

In tunnels

basements

and what about the hours or days of darkness throughout the cycles of the earth?

I think that maybe part of it has something to do with some primordial leftover fear of being more vulnerable to predators...

Are we really, as civilized humans, more prone to being hurt, raped, murdered, or killed in an accident at night? And lookie, lookie...

if this were the case our predators would be none other than

US.

Not monsters, not animals wishing to eat us, or demonghosts.

I don't know what it is about the dark.

What it is about it that incites boredom, racing of thoughts, curiosity, and reflection within me.

What is it about the night?

Crazy check

I was asked a pretty messed up question yesterday. I was on the phone with a pretty close buddy of mine. Poor guy. I called him to basically vent. I felt like an asshole that I had to rant to this dude of all people, but to tell you the truth no one else seems to give much of a shit or have any decent input to give. We were just kind of talking about all of the fucked up shit in our lives. I bitched about the perfect job that I'm not going to get. Then, he asked me...
"Shelly, with all the fucked up shit you've been through throughout the entire course of your life, including everything going on with Royal, you have to realize that you're mentally ill. You can't expected to be well. Why don't you just see if you can't get on Social Security?"
I thought about it. Me? Get a crazy check? Am I really that bad off? Aren't there people that have had shit way worse and that are way more crazy than I am that need that money?
Well, I can't get a job. Even if I did get hired by most of the places I apply at, I would be terrified of everyone, I'd fuck shit up during busy hours of the day because people make me nervous, I'd cry anytime anyone brashley complained at me, and my back would go out at some point and I'd probably end up having to quit. Besides that, I never even know how I'm gonna get to these places. I have to beg and plead to even get someone to take me to the store.
Maybe it's just unrealistic to think that I can live like a normal human being. I have so much shit going on in my head that I don't think I could handle anything else. There are certain things that I could see myself succeeding at doing for a living, but those kind of jobs are out of my reach unless I go to school. I have no clue how I'd even begin to get back into a college. I can't even finish the FASFA application for assistance. Too much paperwork I don't have. I don't know where my dad is. I don't know where my diploma is, not even in the county public records. I can't get a social security card.
People just don't get it. Maybe I do need a crazy check.

Friday, May 28, 2010

Impending Doom

I'm freaking the fuck out about so much right now. I'm sorry, but this has to kind of be my diary for a while. I hate it when people post boring crap about uninteresting problems, but I don't know how else to deal with it.
My boyfriend is starting to do what every guy does once I'm with him a while...He's starting to be a dick to me. He won't take me ANYWHERE but Wal Mart, and that's only when we don't have a crumb to eat in the house. He wouldn't even take me to a job interview, but I'm sure he won't have a problem bitching at me about money anytime soon. I've basically become his blow up doll. He doesn't talk to me very much, we don't do much of anything together, and I'm afraid to confront him because I don't want the classic "I pay the bills so I get to be a dick to you" bullshit that I always end up hearing at some point in a relationship.
The people about to give me this job loved my resume. The interview went awesomely. I actually got told by one of the interviewers that he'd be really sad if he couldn't get me some work because I said everything he wanted to hear from someone he was hiring. I thought I flopped, but apparently I didn't. But...then...
they're gonna do a background check. I just became frozen with fear and told them I lied on my application. I told him I didn't have any felonies, and that I got picked up for stealing gas once. I left out the fact that the same time I was being arrested for the gas they found a piece of an unused bowl under my seat. I got charged with a paraphernalia ticket. They didn't even test it to see if it had resin on it. I also, of course, left out the obstruction of justice charge that's on my record that I have no fucking clue the origin of. I've never been arrested for such a thing in my life. The year the systems claim I caught this charge was one of the years I was in DOC. I couldn't have been arrested and had a trial for something while I was locked up. I think I would remember something like that. I never tell people about that because I'm sure they just think I'm full of shit. There's nothing I can do to have it taken off of my record or expunged, either. I have to hire a privately paid attourney and basically sue the state. Yeah. That totslly sound like something I can accomplish...IN DREAMVILLE.
Meeting with these foster parents that are probably adopting my son isn't gonna be no walk in the park, either. I'm so afraid they're gonna fuck me over. I don't know what I'll do. It would kill me if I let them take him and they keep him from me. IT sucks, too knowing that he'll never come home...and it sucks to face the fact that no matter how bad it hurts, I can't kill myself or go bananas. I would never want Royal to ever grow up wondering why I blew my brains out or became a degenerate. I don't want him to waste away in a miserable life with me, either, so I have to go through with it the adoption. I always wanted children. I love them. I always thought that if I had a kid I could feel good about putting someone out there that I always did my best to protect from the things I've been through and seen. Now I'm wondering if I should ever have another one. I don't want any child to be subjected to how damaged I am from the things I've been through and seen. I don't want to ever have to feel this kind of emptiness again, nor do I ever want my baby to have to feel the emptiness of having a mother that's not really in his/her life if ever the time comes where I find myself absent in any sense.
What am I going to do? I can't get a job, my boyfriend who supports me is going to dump me, I'm facing such monumental loneliness in giving up on everyone and everything in my life. But I have to. It's the only way I can stop being a burden to everyone I come in contact with.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Tired-ass bullshit

MY back hurts. It started out about a week ago as a dull ache. It just kept getting worse and it's starting to become unbearable. I managed to hustle up some pharmeceuticals, and have been taking them accordingly as needed, but somehow along the way I ended up with a few Klonopin. I'm gonna need them.
I have a job interview on Wednesday for a home health care company that needs a part time caretaker for a disabled person two days a week. This is the work I know. It should be a nice gig for me. However, there's always the question of whether or not I can lift anyone with a fucked back, how the fuck am I gonna get to work, and there's a pretty damn good possibilty I won't even get fucking hired if they end up doing a background check on me. I suppose I'll take a klonopin before the interview and hope my ass off that they don't do a background check.
Then I have a meeting on Friday with my kid's foster parent to discuss the arrangements in the open adoption. I'm fucking terrified that at some point these people are going to fuck me over on seeing Royal. They have every legal right to after the papers are signed. In the state of Illinois, once the papers are signed, it's a done deal, I'll basically be at their mercy. I'm so scared they're going to insult my intelligence and take advantage of me. I suppose I'll have a Klonopin before this meeting, too.
For some reason I get the feeling that I'm on thin ice with my boyfriend. He hasn't been very caring, nurturing, or comforting lately. He's been getting snappy and bitchy about really trivial things like dinner and whether or not there's any tea made. When I get to being in really bad pain, he gets displays signs of subtle anger and annoyment. I asked him the other night with tears in my eyes to rub some mint oil on the spot where my back hurts the worst to which he whiningly declined, then asked if I was going to make him dinner. He's grown increasingly selfish in bed despite the fact that making me do all the work causes me physical pain and makes me feel like he doesn't want me.
I feel ugly and fat. I'm hairy and I'm afraid to shave my naughty bits because I feel a breakout coming on and I don't want to take the chance of spreading it. Besides that I feel like there's no point in keeping myself groomed because I never get touched, kissed or licked anywhere but my face, so what's the point. I feel so disgustingly fat and ugly. I finally got to the point where I was getting a little bit of excersise, but I don't know if I should continue any of it because it puts me in so much pain during and afterward.
I'm broke and I'm sick of looking like a fat skank because I can't afford new clothes. It's getting harder and harder to even find tasteful clothes that look good on me since I'm a fucking cow with a mishapen ass, fat arms, big tits, and thick thighs...not to mention the disgusting flap of omentum from carrying an 8 lb baby full term right on top of my pelvic bone, then gaining weight...stretched loose skin, fat, and stretch marks...
no wonder no one wants to touch me.

I just need to face the fact that I'm ugly and useless. I don't have any kids. If I had any more, I couldn't take good care of them. I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to work any job that is available to me. I'm fat and ugly so I can't rely on my looks to land me any kind of gig.

I found a commune in Missouri that isn't full of green fags and vegetarians. It's full of potheads that make sandals all day. I'm thinking about just running away.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Don't Stop Believin'

I know it makes me sound like a fag, but I was looking back on the days when I still believed in God. I kind of miss them. What started it was I was reading something that ended up listing some bible verses in it when I had the sudden urge to sneeze...It made me think of the old dusty church I used to go to. Having bible verses in my eyes and allergic reactions going on in my nose brought back the smell of old musty good books and hymnals. For some reason, Bibles and hymnals always smelled old to me, even when they were new. It's hard to describe the feeling you get by reading something you believe to be the true word of god as a child, and it's even more difficult to try to compare it to how I feel when I read something like Bukowski now that I'm an adult. It sounds awful, but the truth is that faith felt better than 'this'. Since I don't believe in god anymore, my gods have more or less become my heroes...and my heroes are celebrities in some form or another. There's always the sting in the back of my head reminding me that these people are either dead and I will never have the chance to be in their presence or that they are human, and humans generally suck. It's really depressing to be let on that there isn't anything bigger than me because I know that I'm a piece of shit.
I wish I didn't know this.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

The Best Guy I Never Talk About

Certain members of my family, and probably some of my friends, are going to be treating me like a worthless piece of shit for quite a while. Not that they ever treated me that great to begin with, but the shitstorm is on the horizon.
I have a son. I don't talk about him very often because I know no one wants to hear about how depressing the situation is with him. When he was about 9mos old, he was basically taken away from me because we were homeless. Certain members of my family made it worse by witholding information from me and sticking their nose in it, and he ended up in foster care. It's a fucking surreal nightmare. I know so many people that don't deserve to have their kids that don't even get investigated. It's about the only thing in my life that's too painful to even think about, let alone write about.
I have pretty much decided on going through a joint adoption with my son's foster parents. I have to. He's been there since he was one. They're well off and have adopted all of the rest of their foster kids except for mine because I was in the process of getting him back. However, due to Royal's (my son's) father being a sociopathic cokehead/alcoholic that keeps sticking his nose in this shit when he needs to leave it alone, and the fact that my attempt to get him back has repeatedly been foiled due to additions of requirements by the agency, transportation issues, and my lack of an extra bedroom, this ordeal has been stretched out for over two years. Since it has taken so long and because of Royal's dad's shenanigans, the case is up for termintation. Translation: This is going to be on trial for about another two years, I probably won't win it, and if I have any more babies while this trial is going on they can be instantly taken from me. I can't put this child through this anymore. He's getting older and smarter, asking questions and figuring out that shit isn't right. He is happy and healthy at this point, though. He loves his foster siblings. I know he loves me, too, as I do him, but I'm sure he also loves his foster parents. I can't take that away from him out of the selfishness of just wanting him with me.
I went through the system and it failed me miserably. I SHOULD HAVE been taken out of the household I grew up in, but I had to spend sixteen years in it. I ended up going to jail to escape. That's where I ended up surrounded by state kids. Prison is full of them. My son is at the end of the rope for being prime choice adoption age. Adoptees want babies and toddlers, not older kids and teenagers that most likely have been traumatized and have behavioral problems...that is, unless, they want to RAPE them, or use them for a check. I can't take the risk of allowing this to go on for two more years if that could potentially wind up happening to Royal. I know all too well where it ends.
Since the adoption will be open, I will be allowed to correspond with Royal throughout his life. I'll even get to visit him. It just sounds like this is the way to go if I want this boy to have a decent life. I'm doing this for him. I don't want to give up my child, anyone who would think that I want to do this is fucking nuts. I love him more than anything I've ever loved, and I want him to have a happy, comfortable life. I don't want him to ever know a hint of the pain and insanity that I've witnessed and endured. No child should ever know of it and I'll be god fuckin damned if I let mine go through it. I don't know why this is so hard for people to grasp. There are people that don't respect or support my decision at all, and THAT's hard for me to grasp.
Sorry. I'm sure no one wanted to hear that. Thanks if you did actually read it.

East Side Days

The year that I turned 21 I had a period of about three months where I frequented clubs and bars that I had absolutely no business being in with a group of wild ass black girls. The one I wonder about the most nowadays is Kel.
She was the epitome of what some would call "ghetto". She'd call me up and be like "You wanna go to the club, pick me up. I'm payin." On more than one occasion I'd go to get her only to find out that her kids had to ride all the way to the city with us. None of them had car seats, and they were bad as hell. They were always hilarious to say the least. There was the toddler, whom they called "Sparkle", but I still have to figure out what the little girl's name really was. She would always just kind of take in the chaos around her as if it were entertainment. She would always just look about the car, the room, whatever, with her eyes wide open, observing and smiling. There was the oldest one, Keisha, who was about 8 or 9...smart as a fuckin whip, this kid was. I'd always catch her saying smart-assed witty comments under her breath while her mother or other adults would be talking. For those of you who don't know, women like Kel don't play when it comes to getting on their kids. Every once in a while Keisha would be trying to play off like she didn't say anything after sassing an adult, to which Kel would turn to me whoever Keisha was spoutin' off to and tell them, "You can smack the shit outta her if you want." ...THEN...there was Kedrion.
This child was BAD. So bad that you would have to hide from him so that you wouldn't crack up every time he fucked up. One day I was at a cookout in the Sparta projects, smoking a blunt, when all of the people I was hanging out with noticed Kedrion on a bike in his underoos riding past. One of the dudes there told him to get his ass home. Then my friend LaShondra proceded to ask him where he got his bike to which he replied that he stole it, and then shouted, "Let me hit that blunt!"
LaShondra started to walk toward the street to whoop his ass since he was being an asshole and was clear across town on his bike unsupervised, but Kedrion kept zipping past her on the bike, taunting her with obscenities. "Get away from me, ya ole chickenhead-assed ho!" Was one of the lines he spat at her. Oh, and how could I forget, "Nigger, nigger nigger!"-sung to the tune of nanny nanny boo-boo. That was one of his favorites. I couldn't help but crack up when that kid would do that. The grown ups would always kind of nudge me and tell me, "That ain't funny" or "don't laugh at him, he won't stop." I didn't want him to. He was a riot.
Sometimes when this kid was at home he would go into the bathroom and put his underwear on backwards, and wear the narrow part of them up his butt, then run out and just go fucking wild all over the apartment. Jumping on the furniture, leaping into shit. When Kel would find him like that she would always say "Shelly look how he wearin his draws, he gay", or "ignore him, he bein a faggot like his daddy." Kel would let him drink off of her beers and shit. It was crazy.
On these crazy ventures to East St. Louis with the kids and whoever else ended up tagging along, packed into my Dodge Neon on a donut, Kel would chug E&J and smoke joints as she pleased, and usually ask me to let her drive. I usually would once we were in the city and the kids were dropped off because I didn't know my way around like she did. I'd usually find out sometime along the way that we didn't have any money and that Kel was gonna have to go to three or four different hoods to "hustle up some money outta (her) cousin", and she didn't mean cousin in slang, this girl was really related to people all over East Saint. Somebody would always come through and she could usually make enough for us to get back and forth. We would go to some places I just know I had no business being in. One of them had supposedly had a corpse found behind it sometime while we were frequenting the place. It was alright, though. One of the bartenders there was a gay white guy that talked like a straight black guy. I had to be careful when I danced there because there was this tall, big-armed light skinned girl that would always try to whoop my ass for "dancing with her man", even if I wasn't dancing with him. He would always defend me and curse her out when she did it, though.
One place called The Four Aces in Centerville was nuts. The place was basically a HUGE pole barn. There was, for some reason, two lounge rooms in the front of the place, they would have REAL djs, and it was the fucking wild west in this motherfucker. People smoking blunts in groups everywhere. Everyone was friendly...BUT THE GANGBANGERS. One night a giant brawl broke out between two cliques. As soon as it popped off, the dj pulled the needle off the record and told everyone to get the fuck out. The place turned into total pandemonium. Chairs breaking, glass flying, clouds of fists and dust in the distance, and a crowd pushing to get out. I was trying to get into the flow of people with my friends, when the bartender pulled me up over the bar to get me some safety. We eventually made it out and as we all got into the car the canyon sized pothole covered parking lot was a sea of flashing cop lights.
Another place, called Eddie's Nights, in ESTL, was an alright joint, too. It was way laid back, and I loved it on "grown folks night" when they would play a lot of obscure r&b from the eighties and people over (I think) 35 got in for free. For some reason, people in there always thought I was a prostitute. One night I partied with a pimp. He didn't ask me to do anything but get our drinks.
-Like I said, my ass had no business being in any of these places.

Infectious Grooves pt.II Summer is ready when you are...


Wanna know what it feels like to mainline methamphetamine?


This song makes me think of walking around in the city in the summertime...being sweaty and smelling busy people's sweat on the metro bus.


Another one of those songs that feel like breeze on sweat.


Chilled out funk...what could be better to grill meat and drink beer to?



This is the musical equivalent to schizophrenia...this is what my head sounds like when I don't have any music to listen to.


For those of you who don't know...I'm a rabid Britney fan. It's awful and terrible to deal with at times, like when I'm drunk and I get the urge to hear some BitBit...It eats me up inside until I find my way to a jukebox or computer so that I can relieve myself with this crazy whore's tunes. This is my fave...dig the creepy way they sexualize horses in this vid. It kind of reminds me of a Telenovella soap.


I fell in love with the first boy I fell in love with...to this song.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Awesomely Weird Greatness


This is Ariel Pink. He's a buddy of John Maus. They've made some pretty sweet tunes together. No John in this particular diddy, but for some reason, I love it so much. I don't why. I love it when he says "Nancy", and I swear to god he says "you know I'm always gettin' raped" at the end of a verse. I don't care what the lyric engines claim he's really sayin'.


This lady also sings under "Bubonic Plague". She's got a nice pair, and this video makes it possible to understand the glory of this woman's body when it's naked because of the way those sheet toga dresses hang off of her braless upper torso. Dig the "OOOH NOOO!" parts, too. They crack me up. (*I had to go flick my bean after I watched this, I ended up passing out...it kind of ruined my day. I had shit to do...like post this stupid shit.)


Yeah. It really is an Italian song about a rock n' roll robot.


Listening to a lot of M.I.A. is probably partly responsible for my recent dabbling in foreign music (I'm not gonna call it "World" cos it makes me sound like a fag). I don't even remember how I became interested in Eritrea. I don't know quite how to explain it, but there's something slightly haunting about this country...it's people are beautiful...and it's kinda creepy.

Friday, April 30, 2010

St. Louis SUCKS

I've been trying to kickstart some kind of underground writing cred, but I have no idea how to go about it. An editor that I'm friends with on face book has been trying to get me in the door through some publications out of my area, and it inspired me to take the initiative to look into papers and magazines out of St. Louis.
I've spent the past three hours sifting through what is available to me around here only to find that everything is so drab, boring, and stupid that not only do I not want any part of it, but I believe it's pretty safe to assume that they wouldn't want any part in publishing my writing. Most of my writing is stimulating as well as nauseating, to say the least, and I'm more than sure that anything I have to offer will be inevitably turned down out of the yeasayer's fear of being offensive to its readers.
As far as the scenes go in St. Louis, it seems to me that everything is severely outdated. The entire city-even the hippest of the hip-appears to be stuck in a time warp of whatever was cool about a decade prior to whatever the current may be. The closest thing to being remotely cool or edgy is St. Louis' punk rock/rockabilly scene, which has been flourishing since the late eighties (again I say, a decade past its fresh expiration date), and I'm so sick of so-called punk rock and rockabilly hipsters that I could puke. The punk rockers and rockabilly people around here (and I'm sure in other places, also) are either dumb kids going through a phase or dried up douches that need to move past the phase, but refuse to. The underground hip hop/B-boy scene may as well have had a fork stuck in it when all of the thugs ruined the only weekly event that showcased the culture by turning it into a brawl one too many times. There are still plenty of hippies, but, uh, who wants to hang around hippies. I'm not even gonna give the new wave of indie hipsters any of my words to describe what pretentious, stupid assholes they are...so there you have it.
So, the writing sucks, the music sucks, the fashion sucks. The trends are behind, the scenes have no pulse, and the overall culture of the city is shrinking by the minute. I mean what kind of city is this to not have any weirdos? Even the artfags are stiff. Every community is so cliche and ripped-off. Or is it that I'm just an old snob?

Thursday, April 29, 2010

The Mother's Day Edition...VIDEOS!


My mom threw a knife at me once...but she wasn't aiming to miss.


I saw this and pissed myself in laughter.


I have a feeling that this is gonna be me in 20 years.


If he had just killed his mumsies first, he may have saved the lives of all of the rest of the people he killed...


This really reminds me of my mom. Bigtime.


This is pretty serious.

FUCK QUEER NOW.

FUCK QUEER NOW.
DON'T PROCREATE.

Men and women are much too different
they cannot live among each other

The men will rape and murder each other out of existence
the women will die out while they dyke out.

Missionary heterosexual fucking will be made a Class X felony.
Sodomy will become a family passtime

-for there will be NO family

No more aunts, uncles, or parents
No more doomed children

Like packs of dogs and gangs in male prisons
down for the cause of survival and escape

-from the shackles oF the atmosphere

funerals will be obsolete
as the population reacts to the change

like a roach infested trailer being fogged
mass pires pushed off the coasts in barges.

Monday, April 26, 2010

The Tattoo, The Fugitive, and the Cocaine Hurricane

I have a tattoo on my left forearm. I usually hide it whenever people ask to see it. The truth is it's a tribute to someone whom I was very deeply in love with. I actually got it after we broke up, so it's not like it was just some thing I got in a desperate attempt to make some guy stick around. It says "** Lovesick P.V." (the P.V. stands for por vida, which is Spanish for "for life"). The "P" kind of looks like an "R", which really sucks. The guy that gave me the tattoo was super drunk and high on crack, so I should have known he was gonna fuck it up. When I got the tattoo I was confused as to whether or not I would include his name, his alias, or his nickname, which was Jay, so I settled for **. There are even more complicated reasons for why I couldn't have his real name on my body in plain sight.

The man that people in the Carbondale area knew as "***" or "****" didn't know that he had a huge secret. ****'s real name was ****** and he was two years older than what any of his identifation documents claimed he was. He grew up in Houston, Texas since the age of two after his family migrated from Guatemala. ****** mostly lived in the rough barrios of Southeast Houston and eventually adapted to the life of a Southeast Crip, a branch of the Crips gang that includes Latinos as well as blacks. Selvin and his brother in law were street soldiers that dealt in cocaine transactions and burglaries of large businesses. After some shit went down involving a search warrant and a paper bag full of cocaine found in his brother in law's closet, **** snatched up a girl to keep him company, paid someone to allow him to steal their identity, and fled to Illinois to start his new life as Jacob. After becoming homesick, the girl left him to go back to Texas. **** became complacent with his new straight life and inevitably went back to what he knew, which was slinging dope and other criminal means of making extra money. That's around the time I came into the picture.


We had an on again off again chaotic romance, and after I had moved out of his place, I sold a bit of coke for him here and there. I used this time of drug dealing as a means to prove my loyalty to him, and showed him that I could turn his dope into two times the cash than anyone else could.

The thing was that there were two Mexican guys that lived down the street from me who wanted my ass. These guys didn't even do coke, but they would buy my product from me or bring me customers just for an excuse to give me money. They would have their friends come to my trailer on payday. They would have all just recently cashed their checks and ready to party. I sold them a couple of light grams for 250 bucks, later moved on to selling them tiny pinches of unmeasured shit for 50 bucks a piece. Since they were illegal aliens and didn't know anyone else who could sell them anything decent, they never bitched. I was totally ripping them off. Besides that, they were married and I would allow them to do their partying at my house so that their wives wouldn't bitch. After they would make their purchases, they would allow me to liberally partake in their purchased portions of shit, also, so, in other words, their dumb asses were lining my pockets full of cash and getting me fucked up as all well.

After a weekend of slinging I had literally turned only five grams of shit into 950 bucks. My guy wouldn't come and pick up his cash, and I didn't want to have the shit in my pocket anymore. I was afraid I was going to start spending it. I couldn't get a hold of him, so I decided to hitch hike to his place and give him his money. It was a rough journey. It was fucking cold outside and I had to trek mostly through rural roads to get to his house that was an hour away from my start point. I got there about seven hours later, exhausted and hungry.

I noticed I could hear another voice in the house when I had arrived at his door. It, of course, was a female voice. (I later found out it was his new 15 year old crack head girlfriend he was getting to stick around for crack) Nice. I should have at that point got back into the vehicle that was waiting on me and took his fucking money, but I didn't know what kind of a shit storm he could have caused if I had done such a thing. Besides that, I loved him. I wanted to make him proud of me for making him so much money. I waved for my ride to go on, and pounded on his door like a nut bitch until he came to it. I walked into the house, and we ended up physically fighting.

Somehow, we ended up back out on the front porch where he ended up knocking me down. When I fell, my face landed on a cinder block...CRACK. I could hear the bones in my face break and smell the blood spurting from the side of my head. Then I passed out.
I woke up in an unfamiliar vehicle in front of the hospital. I was in the backseat, with him. He was yelling at me to get out, but I was really dizzy and felt like I couldn't talk. He told the driver to leave the hospital and take me somewhere else, but I couldn't make out where because they were all speaking fucking Spanish. He dropped me off at his best friend's house and told him to take care of me. Whilst his buddy was helping me out of the car, I stopped and turned back to the car. I threw his money in his face and spit on the ground.

At the hospital I was told that my orbital was shattered and that I might need surgery. I just thought, "Yeah, how the fuck am I supposed to pay for that?" I never visited the doctor whom they had referred me to. I couldn't even afford to get the prescription filled for the pain killers they prescribed me. I stayed the next few days recouping at his buddy's house. His buddy, *****, didn't know a lick of English, and I had no way of telling him that ***** wasn't fully responsible for the injury. He would call their mutual buddies into the room I was resting in and make them look at me, like "Look what he did to her". I was in so much pain the next few days, but I got through it and eventually returned home. I still have problems with my peripheral vision and slight facial paralysis from the injury, and the older I get the more I can see it. I'm glad no one else can really notice it.

After our real break up, ***** and I kept in touch. Anytime I needed anything, money, food, or someone to talk to, he would speed to my side. After I became pregnant he would swoop me up and take me places to get food that would aleviate my hormonal-induced cravings. On Thanksgiving night '06 went went out, got burgers, and sat in the park where we had a pretty deep conversation about how fucked both of our lives were. We had our first real kiss in months that night when he dropped me home. I had no idea that it would be the last time I'd ever see him. Later on I found out that he was picked up on a petty warrant after the police were called on him during an explosive arguement with his then girlfriend. They began fighting over the fact that she had led on that her child that he had been helping her to raise belonged to him and when he found out that she had been lying all hell broke loose. When he was taken in on the warrant his fingerprints gave him away in that he was a fugitive and the jig was up. He was sent back to Harris County, TX to await trial. That's the story I gathered from the random chance meetings I had with his former friends since then, anyway.


Last April, I began having very vivid dreams about ****. These dreams were never sexual in nature, but were weird and disjointed. In one of them **** and I were making our way through an actively devastating hurricane in a place where there were crowds of Latino-looking people. The dreams left me insanely curious as to the whereabouts of this man. I have been having them up to three times a week ever since.

After waking up from yet another dream about **** this morning I decided to google his name for the umpteenth time to see what I could find out. I ended up stumbling upon a video response from his sister that was in Spanish. I made out the words the best I could and figured out that it was a plea from her asking people to pray for her brother who was being deported back to Guatemala in 30 days if her family could not come up with money to hire an immigration attorney. There were no additional responses, and hers was left in late February. 30 days from when the comment was left would have fallen right around the time I had started having the dreams.

I started to research the deportation of Guatemalan immigrants in the US and found that thousands are being sent back to Guatemala in droves. Some of them are children and sick people raised most of their ives in the US that are exposed after hospital admissions, which means they are being sent back injured and sick without proper treatment. Guatemala was recovering from a bloody civil war and a devastating hurricane, but with the flooding of all the deportees and the victims of the hurricane needing relief, the country (one of the 10 poorest countries in the world) simply cannot endure it. The deportation population exlosion is almost like a inverted version of the Cuban refugee crisis in the eighties. Instead of people flocking to a country to seek opporotunity, people are being thrown back in massive volume to a country with virtually no opporotunity. I know that I will never find him, but I feel as if he is telepathically crying out for my help or sympathy. I wonder if the dreams will ever stop, or if he is even still alive.

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Yeah, I'm A Nutjob.

I think it's pretty apparent that I'm not the picture of mental or emotional health, but believe me when I say I used to be waaaaay worse. I feel really guilty and stupid about all of the creepy, stupid, and nutty shit I've pulled in the past. I thought, maybe if I wrote about it that I wouldn't feel so embarassed about it anymore.

Psycho Girlfriend
I'd say that in the past couple of years I've gotten a lot better about not being such a crazy bitch when it comes to relationships. I'm totally guilty of threatening suicide anytime some dick I was "in love" with wanted to start fucking someone else or leave me. I used to call this one guy until he answered his phone, which would sometimes be a ridiculous amount of incessant and obsessive calling. I've pounded on doors, crying and begging for explainations on why they weren't with me. I've gotten in fights after finding dudes with other girls in public places. I've feigned pregnancies and tragedies as a means to gain some kind of sympathy or sign of concern out of men. When I was a teenager, I'd fall in love with every guy that I gave a blowjob to, and really believed that they might date me someday if I let them fuck me or suck their dick. I don't know what exactly made me stop this behavior, but when I look back on it I feel so ashamed and wonder why I would torture myself by obsessing over these men that didn't love or even want me.
Compulsive Masturbation
Okay, so I still jack off a lot, but not nearly as much as I used to. I know the reason for my doing this is because of my being molested and whatnot. When I was little (pre-pubescent) I would write really dirty letters to boys I knew (most of the time my brother's older friends) and then read them and jack off to them. I also used to draw pictures of tits, cunts, and dicks for my own perverted reasons.
Suicide Attempts
The first time I tried to commit suicide I was 5 or 6. I tried to hang myself from a coathook in my bedroom. I'm not sure what set me off. The second time I was 13. I drank two bottles of iodine with a Coca-Cola chaser after my dad beat the shit out of me for "smelling like cigarettes" when I had honestly not been smoking. I'll never forget the taste of that awful shit. It was years before I could drink Coke again without it making me think of that retched taste. I've worthlessly slashed my wrists two different times, but just couldn't do it deeply enough. I barely even left any scars. I've attempted to commit suicide two different times on someone who fucked me over's property so that they would have to find my body and look really bad when the cops showed up pulling out a dead girl. Obviously, I didn't die. I feel stupid every day for not being successful and pissed off that the last time I planned out how I was going to steal a gun to blow my brains out someone beat me to ganking the gat.
Digging
I used to be terrible about digging through people's shit. It was at its worst when I was about 13 or 14. My brother's then girlfriend had a lot of boxes in our basement and I used to dig through them. I found her abortion paperwork, sex toys, and porn. She was about six sizes smaller than me, but I'd try on her clothes. I'd read her old love letters, snoop through her documents, and use her perfume. One day I got busted and she was REALLY pissed. I still feel guilty about it to this very day. When I was in high school I would skip class to go out in the parking lot and dig around in people's cars. Sometimes if I hadn't slept for days I'd take naps in them. Sometimes I'd stay at school after everyone left and just dig in people's lockers. I don't know why I found it so entertaining. It was stupid. It wasn't like anyone had anything worth stealing. The one time I did steal, I ended up going to jail for two years. Over a fucking CD Walkman. That sure did make me not want to have much to do with that anymore. Plus, the older I got, I realized that going through people's shit usually just made me find out shit about them that I didn't want to know, so eventually, I completely gave it up. I found a new thing to dig through called the internet. Ha ha.
Dermatillomania
I have a compulsion to pick at my skin. I started at my scalp because it was always covered by my hair, but later on moved to other areas of my body. Most of the time I just try to keep with the picking of blemishes or already formed scabs, but when I can't find any, I'll make new ones. Every once in a while, I'll occupy myself for well over an hour doing this. Sometimes when I start running the water for a shower I'll take my clothes off and start picking. By the time I stop and get into the shower, the water will have already begun to run cold.
Lying
Okay, I'm not completely over this one yet. Sometimes I'll be telling someone or a group of people about an event or a story and if I sense that they're not interested in it enough I'll find myself beginning to exaggerate or adding fabricated parts to it. After I realize what I'm doing, it's too late, and I can't take it back. Then I'll feel really guilty and stupid about it for years afterward. The last time I did this was in December and I haven't done it since. I'm starting to learn how to catch myself when the lie wheels start turning in my brain. I really hope that I get a handle on this because I don't want to end up like my mother. As far back as I can remember, my mom has lied about everything from what she does when she's gone to the color of her own shit. Sometimes I'll hear her on the phone with someone lying her fucking ass off about something she knows that I know the truth about, but her knowing that I'm there does nothing to stop her. I've gotten to the point where I just don't ask her about anything anymore because I know that it's going to lead to having to hear a big string of lies.
Wow. Now that I've finished writing this I do kind of realize that this stuff isn't as bad as what I thought it was. It did help to write about it. I'm glad I did. I know so many more people that are way more fucked up than I am. Whew.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Hope, Faith, and Charity

I can't count how many times I have been told that I need to "have faith in something" so that I can be a "happier person," "believe in a god", or "give people a chance to explain their beliefs." Who the fuck are any of humans to tell me that what I need as a human being in order to have hope or to be happy/fulfilled? Who are they to tell me that I should have to sit through their bullshit so that I can "better understand" the reason why they believe what they believe? I KNOW what I need to know about damned near every huge religion there is, and I know that it's all bullshit. I don't need to listen to any more of it than I already have throughout my life. I UNDERSTAND the reason why they choose to follow the religions that they choose to follow. For the same reasons that they choose to follow these bullshit doctorines, I WISH that a god actually existed that loved everyone. I WISH that I could be stupid, ignorant, and delusional enough to believe that some great being is watching over me and the rest of the world, protecting us all. But alas, there isn't. It's not simply just my belief, it's a fucking fact. I'm tired of being told that I need to be delusional to have hope. You know what would give me some hope? It would give me hope to know that other people like me could be within my reach to be my friends. It would give me faith in love and mercy, things that DO exist within most humans, if I knew that I could have real people in my life (not just on the internet) that shared some of my opinions. I would be more likely to accept people for who they are if most of the ones I'm surrounded by weren't weren't so unbelievably stupid...and I would be less reluctant to give my love to others if I knew they had the decent enough morals not to judge me for my lifestyle, lack of income, or being unmotivated to be ruled by money and religion as it seems so many people are.
In other words, so-called "people of faith", are what help to make me faithless. I just finished watching a video. In the video, an atheist was trying to eplain to a Christian how we are all as decent human beings morally superior to any God. He then compared a father-role-playing God to that of a human parent, and asked the Christian if he, as a father, would ever torture his children for not loving him. The Christian man, of course, replied "no", but failed to realize, no matter how well the atheist attempted to explain the theory, that this is exactly what Christians, Jews, and Muslims believe that their God is capable of doing. "I'm god, love me or burn in hell." How does that make any sense?
I know plenty of Christians that "tithe" their money to a church, like they're doing some kind of good for humanity by buying their church a sound system. Oh, but it isn't about being good to humanity...it's about being good to GOD...what the fucking cockshit? Why don't these people, if they're such morally awesome folks, give that money to someone who needs gas, food, clothing, or shelter? That's immoral, if you ask me.
I've also been told by these types of people that I'm immoral for being lazy, sucking on pussies, or doing drugs, and that because have anything to do with this stuff I don't have any morals. That's such bullshit. I have a good heart. I don't enjoy watching people suffer. I don't want to hurt anyone. I make an effort to make people I am around comfortable. I'm good to animals, people, and children and just because I choose to not be friends with someone, like to kill my pain, enjoy having FUN, and don't like to work for assholes that help to ruin people's lives does not mean that I don't have any morals. Y'all need to check on what you believe to be "morals". Oh, and then suck my asshole.

gah.

Friday, April 16, 2010

My Days As A Barfly

Lately I've been looking back on the time I was a bar rag. I've come to realize that those were desperate, lonely days, but sometimes I miss it. I didn't have any friends then, but I could always count on the few old drunks that would frequent my bar to be there, waiting with a draft mug, to talk about love, life, sex, kids, disappointment, and regret. They always seemed to appreciate my love for music, and were more than happy to loan me a few bucks for the jukebox to play the old songs that they could never remember either the artists or titles of. We'd always snarl at the groups of young people, even though I myself was young. I very rarely went home with any of the men or women that breezed through the place, but I was always called a tramp or a slut for hanging around old men. Those non-professionals just didn't get it. They couldn't wrap their heads around the fact that I was more welcome by the old crowd since I had been through more than most of them probably ever will experience within their entire lives. If I didn't have a dime, either the bartender or my fellows would pay my way to a buzz. That old hellhole was my asylum.
After a few years, the bartenders changed, the dope dealers moved, the payday crowd stopped cashing their checks there (probably because the dope dealers moved), the kids took over the jukebox, the mugs were replaced with disposable plastic cups, a couple of my drinking partners died, and I had since joined a clique of attractive women my own age to drink with on the weekends. Now that I have once again grown complacent with the meaning of friendship and everything that goes along with it, I kind of wish that I still had that place within walking distance of me. Every once in a while when I'm in town, I'll spend the evening in there with the fixtures. They're always happy to see me, but never hesitate to tell me how happy they are that I've found a way out of the scene. No one understands how I need a dive bar to call home in times like these. If anyone goes there with me they complain of how boring it is because there's no bands and barely any young people. They don't understand that's what I'm trying to escape. The lousy cover bands, the gaggles of cologne/perfume doused young to middle aged working crowd, the weekend warriors...they nauseate me. I'd rather be with the people like me that are biding their time for death. The ones that aren't picky about the beer they're drinking or the fact that it doesn't come in a longkneck bottle. Sometimes I need those funny-smelling places with the filthy concrete floors.


LOL...

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Serial Killer Ex

I had a boyfriend named Tim.
He seemed like an alright guy, til I lived with him for a few months and began to find out a lot of disturbing shit about him.
He had a porn addiction. Not just regular old porn, though...It was simulated borderline child porn. The girls would have braces and pigtails, VERY small breasts, etc.
He had an obsession with cumming on girls' faces.
He used to take me on drives and once we got to remote areas he would drive erratically, exceeding speeds of 110 mph, and would laugh when I got scared or cried.
A few times when we were having sex, he would choke, slap or punch me...not playfully, either...he drew blood.
Sometimes he would ask to drag me to bed by my hair. He wanted me to fight on the way there. When I'd decline, he'd become angry and leave.
Sometimes, "as a joke", he would make really disturbing comments toward me, like, "I'm gonna cut your head off," "I'm gonna strangle you," or "How 'bout I stab you in the chest?" ...I really think he meant it.
He had a really weird relationship with his mother. She kept ALL of his money, and controlled his finances. Sometimes she would come over unannounced, and just walk into the house. If we locked the door, she'd get pissed off.
I had him arrested once for hitting me. While I was in the police station filling out my reports, she arrived. She was very rude to me, called me a liar, and then proceeded to try to bribe the jail into letting him go. There was a 72 hr. hold on him...it wasn't the first time.
Every time an attractive woman was on a commercial or something, he would make the same disturbing comments. "How bout I split you with my cock," "Shut the fuck up and die, you whore..."
When we broke up, I kept some of the simulated kiddie porn just in case I ever heard of any girls going missing.
I don't claim to be "psychic", but something about our bedroom scared me. It didn't only scare me, but it also scared my best friend who used to stay over a lot. The other day, I was talking about it with her, and we both touched on the fact that we were creeped out by the closet. I always wondered if maybe something happened in there that left behind some kind of bad mojo. Or what if it just hadn't happened yet?

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Saturday, April 10, 2010

A Picked Scab

Every time I feel like I'm beginning to heal from the wounds I've been left with something comes along that grazes the areas just enough to open them back up. I received some nauseating confirmation yesterday concerning my abuser. It was elucidated that what I had always feared is true...I wasn't the only victim. To make matters worse, this other victim I have been informed of is a family member that I have always been very close to.
Coincidentally, it was also brought to my attention by a mutual friend and family member the same day that this other victim is having a really hard time. He's suicidal, having fits of rage, and self-mutilating. After hearing of this I asked my friend if he knew anything about the abuse. He did. He then told me what he remembered hearing about it, and it turns out that our abuser also included me in the abuse. As soon as this was said to me, I remembered parts of it. What's even more disturbing is that I remember both of us being punished by our mothers for being naked in the front yard afterward. I remember the both of us being chased with swatting sticks. The dirty part of it never popped into my head. I think that at the time, we were so innocent in our intentions that the sexual aspect of the event is something I can't recall.
I immediately felt guilt and nausea. Then, of course, I felt all-consuming anger. I wish I could track this fucker down and castrate him. How many more are there? How many people has he ruined? How many poor children have since grown to be neurotic, self-harming catastrophies because this piece of shit wanted to get his jollies off? I don't know what to do. I wish I could help, but I can't if I don't even know who all of them are. It's not like I can just go around asking every kid I used to be around "Hey, did my dad molest you?" I feel overwhelmed with guilt. But what could I have done? What can I do? What if this guy is still in business? I don't know what can be done to ensure that there are no more victims. This shit happened to us over 20 years ago. I can't have him incarcerated. I don't know if he's around any more children that he can hurt. I have no way of finding out, either. I feel so powerless.
Not only do I feel guilty and powerless, all of this is also bringing up so many feelings of worthlessness. I now know that all of these adults in my family knew that me and this other kid were abused but they did nothing to take me from that awful place nor did they report anything about the shit that happened to the other victim. It makes me feel like such a disgusting piece of shit to know that I wasn't worth saving. They left me to live with this fucking abusive pedophile for the remainder of my childhood.
I have to do something. I'm being ravaged with vengefulness. I just want to make this fuck pay. But how can I?

Saturday, April 3, 2010

Infectious Grooves

Digital Versicolor by Glass Candy

I have the entire layout for a music video to this song in my head. It can only be described as an "orgy of color".

Just Wait Til Next Year by John Maus

Okay, I've gotta tell people about this guy because I think he's becoming a big deal to me. He's so weird, elusive and enigmatic. He makes this rad music as a one man band by night, and he's a professor of political philosophy at Hawaii University by day. I don't get him, but at the same time, I totally do. He makes my brain hurt and I like it.

All Come To Meet Her by Skip Spence

I just heard this song for the first time about a month ago and I immediately wondered how I have gone this long without ever hearing it. It sounds so, uhm, tasteful...

Belong by Washed Out

I was really surprised when I found out who was behind what I only knew of as "Washed Out". It's surprising to find that a young, soft spoken southern kid with a baby's face is making chillwave that sounds like dreams. Look him up.

Golden by Katie The Pest

A.K.A. Talia Rose...she's a real nice girl. Found out about her from a music sampler, dug her up on the internets, and she's a real person. You can listen to a bunch of her songs here on blogger. This girl pumps out songs like a fucking machine. You can tell it's pretty much what she's all about.

Bull In The Heather (cover) by The Go! Team

I'm just gonna tell people who know me in real life not to get mad at me for posting this song on a blog. Most of the people that read my crap are cool and deserve to hear it if they haven't already. The ones who don't deserve it don't care so we won't have to worry about it being ruined.

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

This is kind of gross...

I compulsively masturbate.

I have some days when I will do it, like, 15-20 times.

It's really kind of disgusting.

I wonder if it makes me smell like girl jizz.

I wondered this because I know guys that comulsively masturbate smell like cum sometimes. I can point out a male that jerks off a lot in a store if I've had the chance to be close enough to them to smell them (from walking past them or whatever).

This kind of made me wonder, are those of us who do this some kind of sexual narcissists? People who are obsessed with touching none other than themselves? hmmm...

Sunday, March 28, 2010

One Sentence For Dan

Airy Breath Causes Deffinite Eerie Fog, Grabs Hills In Jade Kisses, Licks Men's Noses, Often Plays Quadrimiums, Rests Safely The Uvula, Vanishes With Xanthic Yellows, Zizzingly.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Charlie.



I guess I had my last dream about Tom Waits last week. It was the last of a series of four. Charlie is now in my head, in my dreams. Drunk and on his deathbed. Desiring my subserviant company. As he stood before me, I grew afriad of him. I feared I would fall victim to his misogyny, or that he would to my misandry. But it didn't happen that way. Instead we were tender toward each other. I cuddled him and fluffed the pillows of his deathbed. I found his body cold and lifeless the following morning, but I didn't cry. I embraced his corpse, and called the coroner. I embraced his corpse....hmmm. Metaphor, irony, or nonsense?

Friday, March 26, 2010

Self Medicating...

I have suffered from severe depression and anxiety for most of my life. The first time I attempted suicide I was six years old. I tried to hang myself from a coat hook on my bedroom door with a ribbon dancer toy. Obviously, I was unsuccessful. I am pretty sure that my mental illness can be attributed to post-traumatic stress from my enduring years of sexual, physical, emotional, and mental abuse. However, I have yet to find proper and effective treatment for these disorders.
I joke about my depression often, but the honest to god truth is, no matter how pompous or corny it sounds, if I don't find an effective avenue of treatment, they could very well end up being the cause of my death. People poke fun at those of us who suffer from depression and anxiety, often calling us weak, lazy, unmotivated, stupid, rebellious, etc., but the fact remains that people suffering from mental illness are all too often imprisoned, institutionalized, improperly medicated, and wind up DEAD as either a direct or indirect result of these illnesses. I have seen the results from all sides from having been incarcerated and institutionalized myself.
I have been placed on several antidepressants and antianxiety medications throughout the course of my young life only to find that these sometimes severely addictive and dangerous chemicals have done nothing but cause me further trouble. I have been prescibed these drugs by doctors that were very impersonal, condascending, and sometimes downright rude toward me, which has been the cause of my hostile and calloused feelings toward psychiatric medical professionals. I simply did not like being on any of these medications. They either made me feel lethargic, gave me terrible mood swings, turned me into a zombie, or caused other side effects, sexually, physically, and mentally. They made things, like art and activities, that I had previously taken solace in unenjoyable as they had seemingly stripped me of any emotional entanglement I had through them. They caused turmoil within my personal relationships due to the fact that I could not enjoy sex or meaningful conversation with anyone. Not only did these meds' effects just generally SUCK, but they were also dangerous for me to have on hand due to the fact that any time the urge struck me I could ingest a lethal dose of them.
You know what drug has NO lethal dose? THC. I am in no way an overzealous overly educated hippie that drones to others about marijuana legalization because I simply want to get stoned. However, I KNOW that when I ingest small controlled amounts of marijuana throughout the day, it helps to fight my depressive episodes. I HATE smoking pot. It makes me choke, I think it tastes like shit, it makes me cough, gag, and sometimes VOMIT when I smoke it. I don't like being totally ripped. That makes me uncomfortable, paranoid, nauseous, fidgity, or lethargic. It would be nice to be able to have the means to ingest this drug with comfort, like through a vaporizer, or through tinctures, pills, or oils that could be taken orally. Since I am not a raging pothead, it is very difficult for me to obtain any pot at all, let alone enough of it to put it through any kind of process that could extract its THC for a more accomidating and effective consumption for my personal use. I think it's bullshit that some asshole that just wants to get fucking loaded by wasting ridiculous amounts of pot (and money) by doing bong rips and rolling blunts can obtain obscene amounts of this stuff with great ease, while I, a person who kind of needs its psychoactive properties, have to beg and grovel at shady peoples' toes just to get an overpriced tiny amount so that I can avoid feeling like I want to blow my brains out. So, all in all, I DO believe that the legalization of marijauna is logical, even FOR the people that are just simple potheads. No one ever ODd on pot. It doesn't seem to make anyone violent. Whatever. What's the big fucking deal?
The big deal, as with ANY psychoactive substance is that at some point in its history, marijuana gained popularity with artists, musicians, writers, immigrants, and oppressed minority groups...THE KIND OF PEOPLE THAT STUCK-UP RICH WHITE CONSERVATIVE RELIGIOUS RIGHT WING CONSERVATIVE-TYPES DESPISE...and who had the power? Who had the upper hand? Those yuppie fucks with the cronies and the cash to make the necessary moves to further opress and hassle these people, that's who. The people who are afraid of pleasure and fun, whether or not they partake in it themselves, always have to find a way to ruin the fucking party, ignoring the fact that some of the things they put a ban on could potentially HELP someone. Why not put a legal ban on fentanyl, tylenol, pseudoephedrine, tobacco, or any other medication that causes significant physical harm to the human body? Because then it would have an effect on the corporate landscape and somebody's silk-lined pockets and Swiss bank accounts might turn out a little lighter, that's why. Pfizer, Astra-Zeneca, and other pharmaceutical companies might have to take a risk or do some extra paperwork.
As always, what it boils down to is STUPID PEOPLE WITH MONEY RULE EVERYTHING.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Suck My Fat Pussy

I'm so sick of the fucking selfish, assholish, inconsiderate bullshit that I have to hear, observe, and read when it concerns how shallow, insatiable, and downright mean men are toward women when it comes to their appearance and emotional hangups. So, I'm gonna try my hardest to make you fuckers feel awful about yourselves for a change.
First of all, for all you fat/scrawny/flabby fucks out there judging women based on their weight and trivial physical flaws, go fuck yourselves. I'm so tired of the whole "She should cover herself up" just cos a dimple of fat scares you, or "why don't she do something about it if she thinks she's fat" bullshit. It's fucking hard for women to lose weight, especially if they've been pregnant. Yeah, it can effect a woman's body for the rest of her life if she's been pregnant, even if she didn't carry full term. It's literally about five times easier for you fat assholes to lose weight. Also, even if we DO lose the weight, we'd have to worry about our body parts getting saggy, so in other words we'd waste all of the effort just to have to hear you pieces of shit bitching, complaining and criticizing something else. I've got an idea, why don't all of you pompous assholes get off your indulgent lazy flabby asses and do something about your physical flaws? Stop eating cheeseburgers and swilling down beer in the name of manhood.
Better yet, why don't you all do something about the shit that really matters, like your nasty wrinkly balls. That's right, we're fucking STUCK having to put up with those gross things being present even though I do believe it's safe to say that most women are appauled by them. Oh, and how about your lousy cocks? Face it, guys, the majority of women in the world would gag if they had to randomly see you naked because naked men are generally just fucking unsightly and grotesque to look at. We usually ignore your flaws in the name of love or sometimes to avoid hurting your feelings.
You lousy ass giant infants hit your sexual prime in your teens or early twenties which means day by day after the fact your cock just goes downhill. Just cos your jizz still does its job doesn't mean everything else does. It's such a letdown when we have to worry that we may get pregnant by a cock that wasn't even that fun to screw in the first place. You all wanna drool over young ass little girls cos it's the "normal" thing for a man to do? Well, guess what else is normal? Women, as much as they may be attracted to you, would probably rather be sucking a rock hard throbbing dick of an 18 yr. old than your useless semi-soft flesh turd. Super stiff penises are so much funner to play with...and besides that, they don't take forever to make hard again.
Ya know what else? It doesn't matter HOW clean of a guy you are, about two hours after you bathe, your stuff fucking stinks. God fucking forbid a woman sweat or get a little gamey...we have to deal with you guys runnin around telling every asshole you see that a poor girl smelled bad just because she didn't smell like fruit or flowers when she dropped her drawers. What about your hairy nasty asscracks, taints, and BALLS? They sure as hell don't smell that great all the fucking time, either. But we deal with it! We recognize that you're HUMAN and, whether you'd like to admit it or not, you have FEELINGS...we're just considerate enough to avoid hurting them.
You guys hurt our pride and self esteem constantly, and never own up to it. What do we get if one of us were to barely bruise you guys' fragile, infantile egos? Incessant pouting, evil hurtful retorts, and vengeful angry comments, that's what. Fuck you. We have to coddle and console you like toddlers when you can't get hard, feel ugly, or sexually inadequate and constantly reassure you about your worth. Men have been known to actually KILL women for not saying the right thing when your worthless cocks don't get hard. Oh, but WE'RE the over-sensitive psychos, right?
How many of you know what it's like to suffer from an eating disorder? How many of you have been scrutinized about every inch of your disgusting bodies by groups of women? How many of you have to lose sleep when bathing suit season comes around? How many of you have to neglect comfort for fashion? Not very fucking many, that's for god damned sure.
Next time I have to hear a dude be totally insensitive about what could potentially really hurt a self-concious girl's feelings, I'm going walk right up into their fucking face and tell them to suck the sweat from my flabby ass' crack...and if they do, I'll fart in their fucking mouth.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Drunken Letter To Jesus

Dearest Jesu...

Hi. I'm not gonna get into who I am and stuff 'beins since you supposedly already know that stuff. I'm sorry if you don't, I'm sure that could potentially be one of the things that people misunderstand about you.
I'm sure you must have been a really mentally disturbed person. I mean, you thought you were the son of GOD, I'm sure that had to be a terrible weight upon your fragile human brain. I, too am a borderline mentally ill person, and I am so very thankful that due to the modern times and the country I live in, I won't be murdered for it. I thank the evolution of ethical human thought for that and not you, and I really hope that you don't take that personally. People can be really nasty to those of us who think differently, can't they?
I can say that I know what it's like to be misunderstood...I'm so sorry for the way members of your supposed fan club misuse your doctorines and messages as I'm sure you had the best of intentions. So do I.
I do believe that you are the ultimate celebrity. You're a rock star. You're a G. I'm not saying that as a smartass, either. I mean it from the bottom of my heart. I, myself have a bit of a fascination with the subject of celebrity and 'respect', and I think that even though it ended ugly, you really knew how to draw a crowd and keep them interested. I envy you for that, but I also RESPECT it.
So...I do have some questions...I know you HAD to use some of that status to get some serious Biblical poon, right? I mean, you're a MAN. MEN have needs. My ideas of you will NOT be effected if your answer would happen to be 'yes'. I wish (as I'm sure you do, too) that others would realize that you WERE HUMAN! Doesn't that make you angry? Doesn't it piss you off that people use you as an excuse to hate and persecute other groups of people the same way that you were hated and persecuted? Does it make you angry that they worship you? I really wonder, Jesus. I mean, even though it could get a little zealous at times, your teachings seem to contradict the rules that modern 'Christians' enforce nowadays and that must really grind your gears. I mean, everything in the new testament of the BIBLE must really make you mad. I know I would be angry if people used my words and philosophies to make people hate each other.
I know you are a real person. I know that you challenged the ideas present in your era, and I know that that can be a difficut load to carry. Just because I don't believe in god doesn't mean that I don't believe in you. Your presence in different religious texts only elucidates your status. It's just a shame that no one could handle it properly.
I really think that your dying by way of crucifixion enforces your ideas of dying for what you believe in...and I think that you paid the ultimate price for status and celebrity, just as so many of my other heroes have. THAT'S fucking gangsta, Jesus, and I wish I had a way to follow in your footsteps.
I ignore the Bible, I go by the book of ME, and in my book, you're an alright guy. I know that you would never judge me for my (or anyone else's) homosexuality, curiosities, or questions...I mean, you asked the ultimate questions...and they killed you for it...but you had a right, as does any human being. Thanks for being a solja, Jesus. I envy your bravery and strength.
Upmost respect, my bleedin brotha.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gKegOVenoBg

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Here's 4 Creepy-Ass Videos

Goddess Bunny



In case you're wondering, yes, dis bitch is SERIOUS. Learn all about her by watching her short documentary on youtube!

Robot push ups


I'm guessing this was put somewhere public, like a mall or something in...you guesses it, JAPAN. I can't imagine what nightmares that poor child watching this thing probably had later that night...and probably for the rest of his life.

Creepy Yoga Guy


What in the cocksucking fucking fuck.

The Sultan's Elephant

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Dans Macabre...My Prom

I wish so badly that personifications of death were real. Whether they be cartoonish cloaked figues in makeup or characterized by a man soaked in deadly handsomeness, perched upon something lying in wait to take me. I know I'm fucked up. Who flicks their bean while thinking about the sucking the grim reaper's cock? I do. Well, not exactly THE grim reaper, but an aging worldly man in expensive clothes. His voice would be soft, yet his words would be sharp. He would be feared by others and have an aura of foreboding creepiness that would draw dark souls to him. He would communicate with cocky smirks and lure me into submission with silence. The type of men that come to mind if were able to cast this character are very specific. Some of them are characters themselves. David Bowie, Peter Murphy, Trent Reznor, Scott Walker...so what am I saying? Is death a fucking rock star? A luridly self-obsessed god of the phallus? I'm such a woman... I guess it comes down to the idea of women being attracted to power. What other than the power to take life could be as ultimately glamourous and consuming?


Christopher Walken


Der Mude Tod


The Seventh Seal


Mr. Brink





WARNING: This will fucking scare you.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

If You're Dumb, Don't Watch Or Read Any Of This...



I originally posted this with my "Opinion Of America" blog, I think I've watched it all the way through probably once. I can't tolerate it. It makes me so angry that I want to beat myself in the head with a mallet. "Utopia?" -Bitch, go eat a bag of fucking cyanide.



This guy actually just goes to venues where really crappy bands are playing and sits outside and fucks with their retarded fans. Half of the time they don't even understand what's going on. It cracks me up when they get pissed, too...like the twat that acts like she about to whoop some ass over some damn Nickleback. Dumb ass whore.



If you can understand what this stupid little tart is even saying between her repeating of the words "so" and "like", you'll notice that she's being asked about Jay-Z, because her latest hit single makes references to him during the bridge. "I've never heard a Jay-Z song...I don't make pop music..." WHAT??? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? And, no...you don't love rock n' roll...you don't even know what pop is, let alone sweet, sweet rock n' roll, pussyface.



I'm sure most of you have already seen this one, but I had to include it just in case. HA! I definitely wouldn't want someone who knew this little about drugs and/or their effects enforcing the laws made against them.



I tried to find better examples than this...but it was slim pickins on YouTube, since, uhm, most of the people posting the "dumb question" vids were FUCKING DOLTS themselves. If you ever question your intelligence, just go to Yahoo! Answers and type in random as shit...the world is full of idiots...If you really wanna know just how idiotic, check out the ones under religion/spirituality.



I hate these fucking things. They make me suicidal and piss me the fuck off. I'd rather die than be around someone who is over the age of 8 that thinks this shit is funny or cute because if I didn't die, I'd have to murder something. I have no fucking idea what's up with the fucking "cheezbrgr" or however the fuck these retards cute spell this shit...CATS GENERALLY DON'T EVEN FUCKING LIKE CHEESEBURGERS! These things have been all over the internet for years, usually posted on retarded people's myspace pages. Anytime I've received one, I fucking deleted it. If you like LOL cats, set yourself on fire cos you're worthless.

AND...


"pray that there's intelligent life somewhere up in space cos there's bugger all down here on earth!"