I Deactivated my Facebook account...AGAIN.

Yes. I have gone through the process of weening myself from my affiliation with Fagbook once again. It took me about fifteen mintutes to find the tiny footer to click on that leads to the process that "deactivates" my account. I clicked on it and was redirected to a single-question survey asking me why I had decided to do this with about seven different answers I could choose from and couldn't move on until I chose one. They use this piece of shit ass thing when you decide to get rid of the ads from your existing page, too. The last choice is an "other", which is what I always want to choose, but if you decide to choose this as the reason for your not wanting to see an ad or rely on their addictive and maniupulative social tool for updates on people for whom you mostly could give a fuck less about, you are required to explain yourself in your own words in a box that is given for you to do just that.

The mono-mini questionaire was like a whining freshly dumped long term girlfriend in that the available answers in the multiple choices below the question were that of "I do not find Facebook useful", "I spend too much time on Facebook", blahblahblahblahblah...I don't even remember what I chose. I just wanted out.

I gave the few people on my Facebook that I thought might actually want to have further contact with me a message including my e-mail address. Three people responded to this with emails. After doing this I later learned that one of these people decided to send my best friend a snotty ass message complaining about how in my deactivating my account I was "pushing people away". I wasimmediately vexed by this. I jus thought, "are you fucking serious?"...and yes, she was. That's when I had to stop and confess that as much as I did not want to know or believe it, the social reprocussions of any kind of drama cooked up on these sites are, as silly and retarded as it is, very, very, VERY real.

I have to accept that not having a Facebook account is much like not having a phone. If you don't have one, you're most likely a weirdo. People will think you have something to hide or that you're paranoid. Another sad fact is that not having an account can throw you out of the loop completely as to what your friends or family are up to and could very well be the only way they will contact you. I don't know why or how it has come to be that the only way people will keep in contact with each other is if you allow them to shove every aspect of their life in your face through the powerful modicum of successful social media. It's so fucking narcissistic and pompous to assume that everyone involved in your life wants to know that much about you, and will still want to be around you after they do. The magic of human relationships is partly based on mystery, and knowing too much about people you are involved with could very well end up with you no longer respecting them, or worse, hating them.

I've been known to overshare on these sites, but never as far as to let the entire world know my motives as a consumer. Why in the fuck people are stupid enough to let robots know what they buy in these sites is beyond me. They retards look at the side of their page and see these ads disguised as little tidbits of personal information that the person has left out about themself...like, "Hey, narcissistic consumer drone...you use Downy fabric softener, eat Planter's peanuts, and shop at Wal-Mart, don't you? You're leaving out information about yourself that is vital to letting your family and friends know the REAL you by not informing them of whether or not you use these products, so 'Like' them so we can know more about which ads to target you with, so you'll BUY OUR SHIT!"...and who could forget the ones disguised as cool shit related to entertainment..."Hey, we're going to automatically assume that you're dying to be hip and won't pass up the opprotunity to listen to this band that is on the same label as another band that you like, so 'Like' The Wheatle Wogs..they sound a lot like Guided By Voices!" FUCK YOU! I'll fucking "like" what I already know about and won't fall prey to some corporation's robots that have targeted me as a consumer.

But you know what? After all of these things I've said, I'm finding that at some point, I'm going to HAVE to go back. And, yes, it is for no other reason than my own selfish desire to make myself known for the sake of my writing and shoving my views, personal preferences, and opinions down the throats of others. I'm an idiot.

My Unsolicited Advice=Failure

I think I just broke up with my best friend. It's gonna suck so bad. I don't really have any other friends I can really count on to spend time with me that I can rely on being as understanding or funny as her. She was the only other atheist I had in my life besides my husband. I feel absolutely lost and stupid, but I've fucked things up beyond all recognition.
It all started when I began to drunkenly give unsolicited advice to her about her realtionship and from there it spiraled into me giving her a barrage of unwanted opinions on how I think she treats her girlfriend like shit. I called her a dick and her girlfriend a retard for putting up with her.
I had been meaning for about two years to tell her that she had been acting more and more like a mutated mashup of all the negative personality flaws that both of her parents possess, mainly that of her father, whom she hates. I didn't do it in so many words, but I did tell her that she had been acting like a "crabby dad" since she became the dominant, more masculine roleplayer to a more submissive person in a relationship. I had begun to forget about it until one night about a week ago when after a 5 hour breakup with her girlfriend she posted "99 Problems" on her Facebook page and proceded to call me and tell me how many "hot dykey girls" were hitting her up within changing her relationship status. By the next morning she told me that her girlfriend had basically guilted her into reconciling, and how "she better lick (her) ass cos the next time she fucks up she was going to beat her ass and leave her with all the bills."
From then on I began to lose sleep and the burning in my belly to tell her how disgusted I was with her behavior when it came to their relationship had been lit. I wanted to point out to her how I felt she made a sport of how demanding and snarky she could be to this person she claimed to love. I felt terrible for having thoughts of disgust for my own best friend, but I couldn't hold them back any longer. A few nights later I was talking to her while I was drinking. She informed me of how she was going to allow her girlfriend to clean out a shit and piss soiled kennel of a dog she had volunteered to babysit for a friend after she got home from working a most likely eight to twelve hour shift. I told her that was wrong, and it morphed from thereinto a shitstorm.
The thing that drove me to continue lashing out at her about her relationship, something that I admittedly really didn't have any business doing, was the fact that she refused to acknowledge the fact that she had ever done anything wrong to this girl. At one point I had become uncomfortable visiting them because I couldn't stand listening to the way she talked to her, and having to hear her girlfriend whine about it every time my bff left the room. I hated listening to her yell and demand at this girl as soon as she woke up when I would be spending the night. I got tired of having to act like I didn't think she deserved it whenever the girlfriend would lash out on her. I was just tired of pretending like the way she showed her ass in their relationship had changed the way I thought about her as a person.
Why did I open my mouth? Why did this become so important to me? Why did this cause me worry and strife? I feel absolutely horrible, but the truth of the matter is, I can't have total respect for someone that takes advantage of a weaker person like that. I'm extremely conflicted as far as to how I am going to deal with this. I want her to be happy, but not if it means walking all over someone else. The thing that I don't understand is how I can be so concerned with an aspect of someone's life that isn't really any of my business. I'm more disgusted with myself than I am with her.
I could sit here and come up with a thousand ways she acted disrespectfully or hypocritically with this girl. I guess the truth is that I don't feel comfortable being close to someone who could be so inconsiderate to someone they love. Even though she didn't do any of this to me, I just find it hard to be buddy-buddy with a person that is, for lack of a better term, "mean", and completely oblivious and lacking in remourse to their mean-ness.
Or maybe I'm just a meddling jerk that needs to keep their fucking mouth shut. I seriously just think I wasn't meant for meaningful and long-term friendships because I can't keep myself from holding a magnifying glass over the things I don't like a bout people. I don't make a lick of fucking sense, because I'll be crying out of loneliness once the results of my actions set in.

I'm Not Dead...

There is absolutely no excuse for my utter lack of writing lately besides the fact that I've been slightly uninspired. I can no longer spill my guts the way I once could. Although I tend to lean toward the belief that my life has become a bit boring, there have been sporadic events that have blossomed in bittersweet ignitions. I got married. There have been a couple of deaths. I've patched every ragged relationship in my life. I have learned to refrain from my bitterness.
The truth is that the things I could write about are either too painful to divulge or are just simply uninteresting.
My husband bought me a laptop in October that I've only used to look at pictures of boobs or download bad music onto. I received it in the hopes of writing again and at first the reason I couldn't bring myself to was because at the time I was too comfortable and happy to find anything in particular to rave about. Unhappiness and complacency seem to be huge artistic motivators for all of us who find ourselves members of the creative realm...but alas, tragedies resurfaced. I realize these tragedies are of no particular interest to enquiring readers seeking entertainment and besides that if I forced myself to tell the world about them I can honestly say that the welling of tears in my eyes would make the completion of any entries pertaining to them nearly impossible as well as unbearable.
My issues with self-loathing, destructive behavior, and suicidal ideation haven't completely disappeared, but they have become a fuckuvalot more scarce as compared to other periods in my life. I haven't felt the need to write droning twelve page epistles dedicated to how worthless I am or how much I want to die upon the lined pages of comp notebooks. I haven't felt the urge to fill a blog with posts slamming the existence of everything I love and hate. I will, however ALWAYS have those dark passages deep within my psyche...I will always have bouts of my being lost within them...I can't make that go away. I will never try to.
I haven't done anything very differently, so I'm not quite sure what has brought about this hiatus of my utter batshit insanity...but I think that the fact I have felt something very foreign or ill received has been helping to keep me alive and coping for the past year or so...
real love.
...and I believe some gratitude and groveling is in order to those who have given me this love...
it may not even be love...it could be respect, or understanding, but whatever it is, I'd like to thank those who matter the most in my life for making me finally feel like I'm deserving of it.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?