WTF is wrong with these douchebags? WHY, in the name of whatever it is that you find holy, do they think it's okay to protest at ANY funeral? I just don't get it. I mean, yes, of course it's a ploy for attention, and, as my friend told me, it's an excuse to sue the fuck out of whomever tries to get in their way at any given protest, but DAMN... Is nothing sacred?
I don't care WHOSE funeral it is, it is NOT the place for protesting, picketing, or any other derogatory activity. Chances are, there will be plenty of family members contributing to negativity and whatnot. What got my panties in a bunch today was reading that they plan to protest at Joe Paterno's funeral. WHY??? Because he did bad things when he was living? Guess what, douchebags... A lot of people commit atrocious acts of douchebaggery in their lives, but... the one good thing about death is that it means the douchebaggery is no longer occurring. WHAT GIVES??? Go protest the douchebaggery while it's being actively committed and not AFTER the fact.
Funerals are for the living, and, vile as some of the acts that have been committed are, there will be people there who saw the humanity in the deceased; there will be people there who loved the deceased. You have NO business showing up there and adding to their misery by being fucking idiots who claim to be exercising free speech.
Fuck you, you assholes.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
the girl that I once knew.
Goddamn motherfucking piss shit hell. All I really want is to create something. I want my inspiration to return. I have been bitching about this a LOT, but... what happens when you no longer have very much to say, or, when you do, it comes out sounding like pure drivel? What about that? FUCK.
They say... a writer writes, so I should just be able to sit down and just make words happen. Keep on keepin' on, as Joe Dirt would say. I guess I ... well ... it's never really served me well to try to force an issue. How am I going to make something happen that just isn't there? I guess it'll return when it's so inclined to do so. I guess it just makes me feel like I can't do shit right. Honestly? I want to throw something and scream. What's the point in that, though?
They say... Write what you know. I guess that's why I always wrote about people who have risen above the bullshit in their lives. I shared my misery with others in the hope that it would help someone else with their own. I've heard I was rather good at that. What happens, though, when you've finally gotten your shit together and are actually quite happy? Does that mean you're never going to have a moment of pure genius again? Are there really no more epiphanies I will have to share with my friends? I don't think, for a moment, that I've finished evolving as a human being, but I do feel like I've lost that part of me that is able to make other people relate to me, which... I guess that's what I loved the most, someone being able to identify with me, a feeling I had, an issue I was sharing through the random stories I'd write.
"not the girl that I once knew..."
I guess, in order to find my new epiphanies, I need to become accustomed to being who I now am. Gods know I was used to being that other person. You know, that other person who never served me well. Fuck that shit.
They say... a writer writes, so I should just be able to sit down and just make words happen. Keep on keepin' on, as Joe Dirt would say. I guess I ... well ... it's never really served me well to try to force an issue. How am I going to make something happen that just isn't there? I guess it'll return when it's so inclined to do so. I guess it just makes me feel like I can't do shit right. Honestly? I want to throw something and scream. What's the point in that, though?
They say... Write what you know. I guess that's why I always wrote about people who have risen above the bullshit in their lives. I shared my misery with others in the hope that it would help someone else with their own. I've heard I was rather good at that. What happens, though, when you've finally gotten your shit together and are actually quite happy? Does that mean you're never going to have a moment of pure genius again? Are there really no more epiphanies I will have to share with my friends? I don't think, for a moment, that I've finished evolving as a human being, but I do feel like I've lost that part of me that is able to make other people relate to me, which... I guess that's what I loved the most, someone being able to identify with me, a feeling I had, an issue I was sharing through the random stories I'd write.
"not the girl that I once knew..."
I guess, in order to find my new epiphanies, I need to become accustomed to being who I now am. Gods know I was used to being that other person. You know, that other person who never served me well. Fuck that shit.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
21
This has been too big of a deal for me for far too long. The 21 symbolizes 21 days... the 21 days I may or may not have left to live. Here's the thing... 21 days from now is February 8th, and it's 3 days before I turn 42. Some of you already know this, some of you don't, so let me recap. My dad died 3 days before his 42nd birthday. If I am alive after February 8th, essentially, I will be older than my father. That's so hard for me to imagine, so, for some reason, I have this notion in my head that, on that day, I will cease to exist.
Sure, I have a rational mind that tells me I'm full of shit. I live a much healthier lifestyle than my dad ever did, and I have no risk factors that would contribute to my untimely demise, but still, that thought is there... what if a cement truck hits me? what if I choke on something? I mean, I don't necessarily have to have a fatal heart attack, so, yeah, it's scary.
I've decided... After this date has come and gone... I mean, really, I'm sure it will... I'll use it as a figurative jumping off point to make some changes. Why not now? Well... I need something to take the fear out of the day... something to look forward to because, Gods know, turning 42 isn't incentive. Really? Who wants to get older. In fact, maybe I'll turn 40 again and start aging backwards. If I make it to 0, I'll start going up again.
So, yeah, I can't fathom being older than my dad, and, hey, most of my bucket list items have been fulfilled. Ya never know, right?
Sure, I have a rational mind that tells me I'm full of shit. I live a much healthier lifestyle than my dad ever did, and I have no risk factors that would contribute to my untimely demise, but still, that thought is there... what if a cement truck hits me? what if I choke on something? I mean, I don't necessarily have to have a fatal heart attack, so, yeah, it's scary.
I've decided... After this date has come and gone... I mean, really, I'm sure it will... I'll use it as a figurative jumping off point to make some changes. Why not now? Well... I need something to take the fear out of the day... something to look forward to because, Gods know, turning 42 isn't incentive. Really? Who wants to get older. In fact, maybe I'll turn 40 again and start aging backwards. If I make it to 0, I'll start going up again.
So, yeah, I can't fathom being older than my dad, and, hey, most of my bucket list items have been fulfilled. Ya never know, right?
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Destination
I keep sitting here wanting to do something... I want to create something; more specifically, I want to write something, yet, when I sit down to do so, nothing happens. It reminds me of something I heard from the three stooges many years ago that I've never forgotten... "I'm trying to think, but nothing's happening." I'm not sure why I've been consumed by this compulsion to write something down. I sit down, and I feel like I simply... can't. I mean, as evidenced by this blog, I'm quite capable of typing out words that come out in some sort of coherent fashion, but it's nothing like what I'd love to do... what I was, at one time, able to do. Maybe I need to devote more time to this? I don't know, but, what I do know is that I need to get my groove back. It's frustrating the hell out of me. Period.
I think, what pisses me off the most is that, when I'm out and about or occupied by something else, my mind is literally overflowing with ideas, yet I can't seem to remember any when I sit down to compose greatness. Something's gotta give. Soon. Before I start to feel like I'm becoming a dumbass again. I don't have the capability of putting myself through college again to prove something to myself. Yes... I did that before. Several thousand dollars of my own money spent only to prove something to myself. Fundamentally, I found it to be worth it, but I couldn't do it again. There are too many other things to consider here now.
So... yeah... I guess I'll ramble with my thoughts now. I'm pretty ... happy ... here lately. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm only inspired when I'm miserable. That's entirely possible, I suppose. I guess, if that's the case, I'll have to contentedly live the rest of my days without ever generating a potent thought ever again because I'm NOT going to compromise the joy I've found. I mean, there are other artistic outlets I can cultivate.
Maybe my gift for the written word was to be a short-lived thing... maybe it was a way to deal with things I hadn't dealt with so they could be put away. Ultimately, they and it allowed me to be here. I feel like I've arrived. Time to get off the bus and enjoy.
I think, what pisses me off the most is that, when I'm out and about or occupied by something else, my mind is literally overflowing with ideas, yet I can't seem to remember any when I sit down to compose greatness. Something's gotta give. Soon. Before I start to feel like I'm becoming a dumbass again. I don't have the capability of putting myself through college again to prove something to myself. Yes... I did that before. Several thousand dollars of my own money spent only to prove something to myself. Fundamentally, I found it to be worth it, but I couldn't do it again. There are too many other things to consider here now.
So... yeah... I guess I'll ramble with my thoughts now. I'm pretty ... happy ... here lately. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm only inspired when I'm miserable. That's entirely possible, I suppose. I guess, if that's the case, I'll have to contentedly live the rest of my days without ever generating a potent thought ever again because I'm NOT going to compromise the joy I've found. I mean, there are other artistic outlets I can cultivate.
Maybe my gift for the written word was to be a short-lived thing... maybe it was a way to deal with things I hadn't dealt with so they could be put away. Ultimately, they and it allowed me to be here. I feel like I've arrived. Time to get off the bus and enjoy.
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