Merry Christmas

Dez Nuts roasting on an open fire

Jack Frost in an erotic pose ...

Merry Christmas 

to you ...

_____

Another year gone and what's bugging me today?

Hmmn:

A movie called Free Fall, which was about this dude with a pregnant girlfriend falling in love with another dude. I read a review of the movie that I resent because due to the review I didn't watch the movie for a very long time. I hate sad shit. Life is sad enough, really. I don't need to watch sad films. The review I read said a lot of things and none of them good about this movie. I took the reviewer at their word, and, honestly, this was the last time I'll do something like that. I can't even call the review a misrepresentation of fact. In my humble opinion, the reviewer just kind of lied. Like they didn't want to like the movie when they sat down to watch it and picked it apart for everything that could possibly be even remotely considered wrong with it. 

Free Fall was kind of beautiful in an ugly way. It ended sadly but it ended in a very real kind of way. The main character, Marc, didn't know he was gay exactly, and his love interest, Kay, was just pretty damn sweet. They could have been happy together if other people hadn't kept getting in the way. I felt sorry for Marc's girlfriend on some level, but the truth of the matter was that they were two people who didn't need to be together. Shit happens. 

The reviewer said that Marc had a picture perfect life before he met Kay. What I saw was a man in a trap. He was bored and unhappy and honor bound to stay that way. There was nothing 'picture perfect' about it. The reviewer said that Kay was predatory. What I saw was Kay reacting to the things that Marc did. Marc hit on Kay first -- and literally, even if subconsciously. The reviewer said that Kay was into drugs and dragged Marc down into a drug induced life of sex and ... well ... drugs. Uhm, Marc popped two pills the whole time -- at least on screen. The reviewer said that Kay left Marc like leaving him was the goal of this predatory person from the jump. Kay left after Marc gave him back the key to his place -- saying, pretty much, the he didn't want him. I don't know too many people who would stick around after that, honestly. 

I don't like sad movies, but this one, at least, wasn't sad for the sake of being sad. It wasn't a judgement call. It was a movie about what happens in a situation like this sometimes. I think the movie handled itself well. I'd like to smash that reviewer in the mouth with a hammer. And learned, for the final time, not to listen to anyone else's opinion about anything -- but to judge for myself. 

I suggest that the movie should be seen by anyone who happens to read this. The guys are beautiful, and there's chemistry between them, and, while sad, it's sad for a good reason. And there's still hope if Marc decides to go searching for what he lost... 

...which he definitely should do. 

*

I'm writing quite a bit of horror fiction as it was my first love. I am remembering what it was like to scare the shit out of people instead of trying to arouse them. For me, it feels the same, you know. Lost in words, and pictures, and phrases, and screams. I missed this. And it took doing it a couple of times to remember that. 

I'm pseudonym (ing) my way through life these days and it's satisfying in its way. I enjoy being the creepy thing under the bed and in the closet. 

*

I have nothing else to report. I just really wanted to counter that shitty review actually. It was all in depth and serious and I took it seriously-- and after I watched the movie, under duress, I was mad about that. 

So that is all, try to remember what Bill and Ted said that fateful day in 1988:

aka

Try not to be a cunt.

This love song's for you, Santa Claus... 

... for all that you do...

BLACK MIRROR

I have to recommend this television program. I feel obligated to share it with those who, perhaps, may have missed its ... wonderfulness. I watched this whole thing in one sitting. Well, after episode 2 I had to sit back and take a break from it, but then, I was right back at it. It's a strange kind of horror this, and this is not a horror show, not really. It's description reads: 

Suspenseful satire with a techno-paranoia bent, the `Black Mirror' is all personal technology.

I suppose that's rather apt. I loved this show enough to talk about it here. There were only six episodes available on Netflix, though I could have stayed down this particularly horrific rabbit hole forever. I hope they make more and I hope that continue to produce good material like this episode to episode. My favorite episodes of the six were: 

1. The National Anthem

All about the Prime Minister of England and a ... pig. And a kidnapped princess. And the price of a life. And social pressure. And empathy, I think. Or the lack thereof. 

Would you fuck a pig on national television in order to save the princess? Would you have a choice?

2. 15 Million Merits

This one was my personal favorite. It is indescribably horrific and must be seen to understood. I won't even try to ruin it for anyone by describing the world -- because it's THIS one. 

There's a show that you can go on if you earn enough credits and the show ( American Idol -ish) will make you rich and famous. 

This one is about the death of beauty. The purposeful, malicious destruction of honestly beautiful things/people in order that we can relate to those things/people. Reducing them. 

3. White Bear

 I love the actress that played this part. But I couldn't sympathize with her in this world, which, I think makes her a better actress. 

What is the price of killing a six year old? Are people like that animals? Do they belong in zoos? Should we take field trips?

My interpretation of the events unfolding in the program may be off from yours, but I can guarantee you that this show will make you THINK.

It's brilliant, in my humble opinion, and while watching made me uncomfortable more than once, I'm glad I got to see this. I hope there's more. 

I suppose that's all I have to say today. I could blather on about the injustices of the world, but I just don't feel like it. From senselessly racist Youtube comments to women who allow their significant others to beat their children to death and cry that they just couldn't see fit to do what was necessary to protect them, to stupid ass wars to murdered East Indian female infants ... I'm just tired...

Eric Martin, Monster

I was a bullied kid. Nerdly. Read too many books. Didn't date. Didn't wear make-up. Had the wrong clothes (poor people clothes). I talked 'funny' -- meaning I loved words and the way they were pronounced and knew some really big words and incorporated them into my ordinary sentences. I was a weird kid, and I got tortured for it. Teachers didn't do anything because they didn't care. I love learning, but hated school with the burning passion of a thousand suns. My answer to that was to stop going for long periods of time--months if I could swing it.

In reading the story of Eric Martin and his battle with the Henrico School district, I feel nothing but sympathy for this kid. Beaten senseless for defending himself from a constant and relentless barrage of abuse that included gay slurs, Eric probably has brain damage now from being stomped half to death by his peers. He was hospitalized last time I looked. His face was swollen. He's a cute kid naturally--the skinny, basically defenseless kind--and seeing what they did to him is absolutely heartbreaking in this cold way that I have developed for looking into the microscopic lens of mans inhumanity to man.

The fact that these kids beat the shit out of Eric doesn't surprise or horrify me the way it should anymore. I am not as indignant and rage-filled as I would like to be over it. It's wrong, but so are a lot of things. What does manage to break through the ice chips that comprise my heart is the fact that charges were brought against Eric for defending himself against this constant abuse. A group of savage animals is one thing. I expect to see that. Historically, if humans were ever good for anything they have always been good at making the lives of other humans as miserable as possible. From slavery to the Holocaust, we are good at the torture of others for any excuse, the most common being "that one is not like us'.

My problem becomes the fact that the school is standing by those who committed this atrocious act. After having been told repeatedly about the abuse that Eric was receiving on a daily basis and doing nothing to help him, when this kid finally stands up for himself, they want to punish him for doing so--like getting his ass kicked like that wasn't enough pain for him. They are actually going to make him the bad guy in this scenario. A little skinny kid who got brain damage by being bullied and beaten is the bad guy here. He is the monster.

If Eric has killed himself like so many kids are doing these days then he would be considered weak and wrong.

There is no win.

Here is what things like this are teaching people:

Bow down. 

If you're being called a faggot or a nigger or anything else. If you're being pushed prodded and beaten, bow down and change yourself to suit the larger body of the aggressor. Become what you are told to become.

Black and wearing baggy clothes? Put on a button up shirt and speak real proper like -- or we'll fucking kill you.

Gay, look gay (whatever the fuck that means)? -- straighten up -- or we'll fucking kill you.

Have thoughts of your own, want to be left alone -- join us -- or we'll fucking kill you.

This is what we're teaching our children and then we sit back and wonder why the world is so fucked up, love is practically dead and if not completely dead definitely and individualized, sexualized and very personal kind of thing. Example: I love Tommy because he looks the way I want, takes care of me, and meets my physical and emotional needs.

Love is supposed to be so much greater than what it has been reduced to.

I can't really think of anything else to say. It's not like I'm the only person that sees this shit. I really hope that Eric receives some justice for what happened to him. I really hope that school becomes a place of learning and not a place where kids who don't fit the cookie cutter plastic mold of how they are 'supposed' to be get the shit kicked out of them and hospitalized. And their beatings and torture don't get cosigned by the adults that are supposed to be there to protect them.

If not, the world will just get meaner and uglier, day by day and year by year because the people who actually make it through school and get in positions of power will be the same people who thought it was okay to torture and beat Eric Martin.

And this stupid, ugly, worthless, senseless, incredibly cruel shit will just keep on...

...keeping on...

Common Core

The world is upside down again, If you bother to read here, then you know that it is often upside down for me. The simple fact is that, for me, a lot of things that other people do just don't make sense. For a long time, I thought there was something wrong with me, so I wrote stories of worlds that did make sense to me. I escaped into them... and I still do.

That said, this COMMON CORE stuff is bullshit, people. I know that I don't get read, very few people stop by this little blog. However, I have to say this anyway. When people attack CHILDREN I have to speak.

The first thing that I noticed was the fact that most kids today can not write in cursive. The explanation that I gleaned from that was, with the computer age and whatnot, cursive was no longer necessary. Everybody types everything. Cursive writing is an outdated practice. I do have to wonder how people are going to sign their checks in the future, but that is neither here nor there. I accepted it like everyone else. BUT ... and this is a great big jiggly butt...

I have to ask if you love your children. I mean, do you REALLY love them? Cursive writing is a DISCIPLINE. More than a fancy way or a quicker way of writing is is a learning experience that teaches necessary things within itself. It shapes and molds the brain. It has been said that it shows great character and personality--the way someone writes. There's a sense of pride inherent in it at first--when one is young--the accomplishment, the personal style. Everyone does it differently and the difference is nearly  as fine as a fingerprint. This fineness, this fingerprint has virtually been eliminated, and I truly feel that the children have lost something great and dear. Personally, I enjoyed the individuality of that rolling scrawl so much that I learned calligraphy in the fifth grade in order to refine my personal signature--to express ME to a greater extent.

This was a first loss but the gulf is getting bigger. The first time I saw common core math, I didn't even know what the fuck I was looking at. The kid had a simple problem: 72 + 72 =   ... or some basic thing like that. I'm not all that good at math. Frankly, it bores me. Math was always too absolute for me. Even so, there was a comfort in its absoluteness. Math is not subjective like an English paper. In math, you either have the right answer or the wrong one. Now, that is no longer the case. In common core math you can have the wrong answer and still get the problem correct. There's something wrong with that. There is a LIE somewhere. Math is not subjective. Again, there is only one answer to a math problem.

So I'm facing this common core math problem. And the child who brought it to me starts drawing all these little boxes. And I'm thinking: What in the fuck is this kid doing? This is not an art project. This is math--my most hated and dreaded subject because it was so absolute that it wasn't very interesting to my creative mind. Still and all, I am capable through education of doing such a simple problem without a pencil and paper. I learned my multiplication tables through rote memory. I can add and subtract anything from anything else. By the ninth grade, I was better at it than I thought I was. I hated it. But... comfort. There was a measure of pride in getting that boring thing right, in achieving that common ground with everyone else doing the same problem. In understanding...

Anyway, back to this kid and these boxes. 99 boxes later and the kid came up with an answer that was almost right for a problem that shouldn't have taken more than a few seconds. I'm looking at this pyramid scrawled across most of the page for this baby ass problem and I ask...

"Honey, what is this?"

"Math."

I shake my head. "This is not math."

This is a long way round to get to a simple thing. All these boxes to add such a simple problem. Using words like 'friendly answer' on the worksheet. Math is not friendly. It's cut throat. It's rude. When you're wrong, you're wrong and do it again and get it right next time. What does being friendly have to do with fucking math?

So now we have no cursive discipline. Friendly math -- where the wrong answer is just as good as the right one. AND ... when is the last time your child had a spelling test?

Remember those sweaty, vomit-inducing occasions? Are they still doing that where you are? Because I haven't seen a spelling test in YEARS. I've seen papers where all the words were spelled, more or less, wrong, and yet, there's a shiny gold star on the top of the page. Not sure if the star was because the kid tried or because they actually turned in the assignment. What I do know is: I would have gotten a big fat RED fuckin' F for turning in something like that. Reading and the English language are FRIENDLY now too.

Let me tell you something real. My FRIEND doesn't want me to turn in papers like that. My friend doesn't want me to take 90 minutes drawing boxes to do homework that shouldn't take more than half an hour if I'd been properly taught the basics. My friend doesn't want me to be a little half dumb robot with a lot of undeserved gold stars, good grades on paper, and very little understanding of basic core material, absolutely no personal self worth, and no ability to critically think my way through things without drawing a hundred or so fucking boxes to add 2 + 2.

Something is very wrong. The world is not 'friendly'. A kid lacking basic skills will not get far and will never create anything useful. A false sense of worth in a 'friendly' environment is meaningless when that environment collapses and this real shit begins. Proud of your Golden Starred Baby? Take a look at their homework. The way that they spell things. How they're doing that ridiculous brain-numbing, exhaustively over-inflated math ... Is that shit spelled and punctuated correctly? Is that math problem correct? Are there a lot of stupid fucking boxes on that page?

Can you recite your multiplication tables without even thinking about it? Can your kid? Why can't your kid?

Something's rotten in the state of Denmark, people. It stinks to high heaven. I read a think that said something like: White Suburban Moms are Bitching about Common Core cause their kids aren't as smart as they think they should be." OBVIOUS TRANSLATION: these uppercrusty bitches think they're better than you.

REAL TRANSLATION: I am not a white suburban mom by far, and yet, they are RIGHT. Do not be divided by labels. Your children's futures are at stake. The kids I care about know proper math and can frame a sentence without spelling and grammar errors. I did that because it bothered me that much. Only one of them doesn't know how to write in cursive. They can read it but they can't write it...YET.

Please...

Math is not pointlessly overly complicated little boxes with numbers inside. Misspelled words are INCORRECT. Grammar is important and should not be neglected in favor of keeping everything 'upbeat' and 'friendly'.  And being able to sign your name is a source of pride -- kids need that.


And I thought it was bad that they were RED SHIRTING kids who were born near the end of the years so that they went into the class underneath them in order to bring up the overall test scores of that underclass. Because test scores mean money. Fuck the kid who is being held back for nothing.

It all about money. Always.

Someone is making money off Common Core.

Think about that the next time your kid comes to you for help with their math homework and shows you a pyramid.

The Definition of an American "Thug"

I write these things to clear my mind and find some kind of peace. Most of the stuff you will find here lately had nothing to do with writing erotica nor romance nor the many machinations of attempting to be what I so obviously AM.

_____

That said, let me give you the definition of a thug according to Fox News and the American media system, which, like in Orwell's 1984 seeks to create a monster for all to fear in order to keep the populace focused on things that don't matter while the rich control us all like puppets and force us to dance their little dances for crumbs and table scraps.

In Orwell's 1984, there was a big monster. This monster was the thing that people were taught to fear. I read the book a very long time ago, so I don't recall every delicious, horror-inducing, oh-you-brilliant-sexy-writer, word. The populace was at war with someone and that person wasn't real--that is what I remember and that is what I want to use in an effort to talk about this monstrous 'thug' that we are all taught to fear no matter what color we are.

The dictionary definition of a thug is this: A cruel, vicious ruffian, robber or murderer.

This is the picture that Fox News employs. We are taught so well to hate the thug that if such a creature turns up on our doorstep in the middle of the night seeking aid and assistance because they've been in a terrible car accident and manage to, mercifully, stumble out of the wreckage alive -- we shoot them. Before we call the police, before we do anything else, we shoot these MONSTERS.

A lot of people want to call this racism.

Correction: This is definitely racism. The absolute BANE of the planet earth.

And, to a certain degree, it is. But, more than racism, it is the Orwellian fear (carefully taught by RACISTS) of the monster that we've been carefully taught to hate. We kill IT because all our lives we've heard terror stories of what IT will do to us if we don't.

There are many stories like this and there will be many more. Just like there are stories of police corruption where thugs are shot down for little to nothing by cops with nothing to lose by doing so. Rabbit Season. Duck Season. Thug Season.

It actually shocks me how ready some people are to kill someone else--but that, in itself, is another story for another time.  And one that deals with the mournful disconnect of one human being from another on a global scale -- a near complete lack of compassion and empathy for other human beings, and, therefore, truthfully, for SELF. 


But one should not waste sympathy on a thug. A thug is, by definition cruel, vicious. He will rob and kill.

How does one identify one of the creatures exactly?

Well, thugs sport a certain kind of dress and live, predominantly, in Urban areas. They sell drugs and pimp hoes -- not because they have to, of course, but because they want to. Thugs are different from other human beings and should be hunted down and killed because they will kill YOU. Except that most of the crimes committed by these thugs are committed in their own communities. But that doesn't matter because they are MONSTERS and anything that happens to them they deserve. I mean, just look at them. Aren't they scary with their baggy pants and dreadlocked hairdos? They don't speak proper English. Lock them all up for petty drug offenses and throw away the key and then sit back and talk about the fact that all the Lady Thugs are unwed mothers.

There is a definition of thug that I found in the Urban Dictionary that I have found, in my experience, to be far more apt:

"A thug is someone who is going through struggles and has gone through struggles and continues to live day by day with nothing for them. That person is a thug, and the life they are living is a thug life."  

According to that definition, I am a thug and living a thug life. I write and write and write and receive nothing for the fifteen or so books I have published because ... I am ... not very good at this shit. Yea. That's it. Because 15 books in ... and I fucking suck. They just kept publishing me 'cause ... Well ... Reasons. Maybe it was the kindness of their cold, black hearts...

... that sounds about right.

Let's go with that.

Aaaaaaanyway...

I am a proud Thugesa and I will probably be shot tomorrow for saying that shit--but que sera sera. I've found more honor among thugs, honestly, than I have in dealing with the very least of the Industry people and other writers--as confused and fucked up and dead asleep as most thugs, unfortunately, are.

Distancing one's self from injustice because it doesn't directly affect you is a fool's play of the highest order. Labeling humans monsters because the media told you to, or because your grandpa did, is also a fool's play. Injustice doesn't have any stopping sense. ROBIN HOOD was a THUG. How long will it be before YOU try to stand up and someone with more power and authority knocks YOU down, labels you, and renders YOUR existence obsolete?

Tell me, Oh Struggling Soul, if you aren't also a thug by that second, and far more REAL. definition of the word?

"...a tiny fairy light on the Christmas Tree of Evil."

aka. Faux News

It was my only wish to rise Above these jealous COWARD motherfuckers I DESPISE

The Many Misdirections of "NEW" Feminism

This is my personal rant to be taken with a grain of salt.

The trend that feminism is taking has made me hate the word. More and more, it is becoming a bitter and hateful word--conflicted, confused, and misdirected by a bunch of petulant little girls who think they know what they're talking about. It is a disgusting, disheartening thing to watch.

Once upon a time, the word meant something important to females. In a world where some cultures cut off clits, and stone women for being raped, the word was like a beacon beckoning with hope for some form of equality among the genders. It was a helpful word in framing a world where no one is less by virtue of misfortune of birth. I've always been rather fond of it in a distanced sort of way that wasn't really distant at all. The word brought about change and a change for the better. All that bra burning was nice. A turn in the tide of commonplace domestic abuse was nice. Voting is nice -- the illusion that our votes make a difference anyway.

However, today's feminists are a running joke without a punchline--bitching and whining and passive aggressive bullying about everything. The 'free bleed' movement makes me want to stab kittens and I LOVE kittens. Frankly, I think that whole thing is just nasty on the same level as that scene from "To Sir With Love" where Sir walks into the class and there are  hastily and publicly removed tampons burning in the classroom's furnace. While there is nothing to be ashamed of about a natural human process, there is a pointlessness to the methods of this "movement" that I find truly cringe-worthy. Do we need, then, to allow all our necessary bodily functions to evidence themselves in public by allowing them to run down our legs? Or is that thought rather vile?

"Say it long and loud, I'm a bad bitch and proud" ... is one thing. This... is another.

I give great consideration to the fact that women used to be locked up in huts far away from the village when this time came for them. Such a thing was considered shameful and was reviled by the community. I understand all that, and still I say that there are ways to go about things... and this isn't the way. I get the point, but the method is overly dramatic and childish. That, and, these days, Ladies, we have much BIGGER problems that aren't being addressed. But I'll try to save that bitch and moan for another day, and talk instead about this video game bullshit that's been going on lately.

The big gripe was that women are underrepresented in video games and when they are represented they are overly sexualized playthings for the male players. As a person that plays ALOT of video games, I cry bullshit. There are many awesome video games filled with female personas kicking ass. If you truly give a shit, then you should know the answers already, and lots of people have put evidence up all over the net. If you're talking about a game like GTA, where all the dudes are macho and all the ladies are (kinda) whores -- a game I love except for the repetitive factor of the missions-- then you're gonna have to realize that GTA is an allover kind of fantasy where you can smash innocent people's heads in and steal their cars and run amok for no other reason than you've had a bad day and need to get out some aggression. Play Mass Effect or Dragon Age--beautiful engaging stories and something for every kind of person. Final Fantasy ANYTHING -- from 1-14. Saint's Row is Hella Fun For ALL. Get down with Lara Croft and stop trying to shave off her tits and make her look more like something you can stand to look at and not be jealous of. In other words, stop bitching about NOTHING, plz.

There's a lot to bitch about for real. Education in America sucks ass churning out more and more stupid, oblivious people. The government is after the right to have abortions making you a cow. Gay people still can't get married anywhere and anytime they want. The foster care system is losing children. Child abuse is running rampant. Racism is alive and well and eating at the core of out country keeping us from having a National Healthcare system like every other first world country in the world. Moving up the corporate ladder (or whatever ladder you may be on in fulfilling your dreams) still requires that you take off your panties and do a mean ass butt naked, hori-fuckin'-zontal snake dance for promotions. If you aren't married, you aren't a real woman. You better weigh 99 pounds soaking wet or you're a fat bitch...

I could go on...

...but I won't. The right to ... Ugh ... free bleed, and Who's Who in video games seems so ultra insignificant in the face of the problems I stated above. And, yet, these are some big ass topics in the realm of NEW feminism. What doors are being knocked down by this ... drivel? What brand of misogyny isn't laughing its collective ass off at ... this?

Think about this dumb shit in the looming future when some of the hard ass real life choices you have to face come into painful fruition.


Oh, and I'm not a feminist Old School or new. I'm a realist, if you must label my invisible ass anything at all.

Poems

(1.)

I am from a sketch book

From colored pencils and computers

I am from the tall building with the rose bushes

and the meows of my cat, Logan

I am from the green vines upon our windows

The lake and Pier

I'm from baking and artistic skill

From mother and father

I'm from laughing and playing games

And from fiendish delight

I'm from "We'll fix it together," and "I will always love you"

And the "Ghost Busters" tune

I'm from competitive gaming

I'm from the hospital and home

Nutella and omelets

From "The small girl who always went to 

the library to read." And her eyes never left the pages.  

(2.)

Bird of My Feather

Long winged rider of sweet midnight breezes

Made of dreams, fears and fantasies

Flying high in the realm of pure imagination

Creating the sky that becomes your domain

Speaking in thunderclaps and soft whispers

Vivid colors and sweet aromas left in your wake

Unperceived by a world numbed to beauty

And comfortable in ignorance

Wingtips touch and inspiration ignites

As mirror images take flight

Identical opposites intertwined in midair

Most would never understand

They look up in admiration

But would want to destroy us if we flew too low

So higher ever higher we dance through the air

As long as this dream shall last

_____________________________________

I didn't write either of these.. but they are both mine all the same. 

ANACONDA:)

Look.

At.

Her.

Butt.

Haven't really been into Nicki Minaj since Itty Bitty Piggy, which I loved. Starships isn't bad. The Malcolm X thing kinda made me sick. However, this bad little bitch has redeemed herself in my eyes. 

Oh my gosh...

Look at her Butt...

When that douchebag went public and talked about her latest album cover, I didn't expect much out of her, frankly. I am so used to people bowing down and accepting the many hypocrisies of the world. 

My anaconda don't...

My anaconda don't

My anaconda want none...

Unless you got buns hon...

She didn't accept that shit though. She got mad. And her response to that guy (at least to me) is the video for the song Anaconda. That ass is shaking like a salt shaker--like a malt maker--and it is beautiful. 

I'm hearing all sorts of shit behind it. What's this video even about, etc.

The video is a response. And it's a great one. 

Drake's face at the end when she walks away is so damn lustful and sexy. Thirsty. 

2 weeks in the hot desert and that ass is the only water for miles -- Thirsty. 

I

this vid:)

Shake it...

Shake it...

Shake that healthy butt...

Baby Got Back. 

                                            ~ Sir Mix A Lot

I'm Glad I Don't Live In Ferguson Missouri

Axin' All Dese Questions...

I have often found myself wondering how some people think. As I writer, it is an exercise I employ quite often in order to create people and make them breathe off the pages.

What does it feel like to feel superior to someone else? What does it feel like to actually judge another human being as less, and even sub-human? What does it feel like to look at someone and immediately judge them a violent, dangerous thug, for instance? What kind of person would you have to be to see a person killed and then look for a reason to justify that murder--like they were stealing candy or cigars.

How does that kind of thinking work? And more importantly, what does it feel like?

Does it feel good? It has to, right? There has to be some kind of comfort in it-- a sense of security maybe.

I think that maybe the German people surrendered to this kind of feeling when they were killing all those Jewish people in all those concentration camps--both those who actually became Nazi's and those who sat around and let that horrible shit happen. The Jewish people were less. The Jewish people were all sorts of things. The Jewish people were bad. The Jewish people deserved to die for any little insignificant thing, but, mostly, for the crime of being Jewish.

It must feel good to think you're better than someone else and that their life means less than your own.

I see a terrible, grotesque, kind of weakness and insecurity in that kind of feeling, but I must be wrong, because so many people surrender to it so very easily. As history works to repeat itself, most are acting like it's the first time all over again. And again. And again.

This could be such a beautiful world. But we steal from each other, rape each other, hold one another down. Make up things to hate one another for. Bash each other. Starve each other. Harm, hurt and hate one another. And still consider ourselves some kind of superior beings on this planet because we can destroy it with such a beautiful, well-thought out, and pointless kind of viciousness.

We create diseases to kill off other human beings.
We make dirty bombs and clean ones.
All kinds of warfare fighting over pieces of a planet that belongs to all.
And I sound like some kind of hippie because I see it and long for it.

What the fuck is wrong with humans? That question's been asked forever and a dark day because we've been fucking this up forever. Most are praying to a god they couldn't possibly believe in when they do the horrific things they do to other people and then justify that shit by saying that that person is less in the first place and deserved it. Sons of Cain. Homosexual. Female. Jew. Gentile. Butcher. Baker. Candlestick Maker. Apache Chief. A thousand labels. A million different divisions from the whole -- so there's always someone to shit on. BECAUSE SHITTING ON SOMEONE ELSE SEEMS TO BE THE MOST IMPORTANT THING OF ALL.

I am better...

I am better...

I am better than you...

I can take your life. 

And nothing will be done

Because you're nothing...

I am everything. 

I am better...

I am better...

I am better than you. 

We live in a very savage world on a mental and emotional level. It's covered up quite nicely by a very thin veil of civility. .We've got a whole bunch of technology, a whole bunch of material things and toys and shit to play with. But, I think we like best... to play with one another. And we like breaking our toys. Breaking them makes us feel good, better, SUP-fuckin'-PERIOR. 

So pathetically childish when there are so many better things to be doing. 

And...

Yet...

So sickeningly REAL. 

If They Gunned Me Down -- Tre's Song

He was just a kid. At eighteen years old, he was six feet tall and thin. His skin was dark, the color of almonds. He had gold eyes that girls liked to drown in. He was late for work and annoyed by his own lateness. He wanted to keep this job. He needed it. Tuition was sky high and he intended to graduate from college and not owe his soul to the loan companies afterward.

Tre was dressed in all black. He wore an inky hoody that his face was practically dissolved into. He looked like a walking shadow as he strode the dark streets quickly in his rush to get to where he was going. He had his boss on his mind. The speech he would have to hear for being late today rang in his ears. He hadn't heard the speech often, but he'd heard it enough. The high-pitched inner voice lent a spring to his step.

He crossed the street into the relatively affluent neighborhood in which he bused tables at a prestigious little restaurant. It had always amazed him how the simple crossing of a street could change one's whole world in the city. Behind him lay darkness, busted streetlights and decay, and ahead of him was a brightly lit tree-lined neighborhood that looked like Heaven in comparison.

He didn't see the cop because his mind was on his job. He heard the slight mechanical whirring sound that cop cars make when they pulled up behind someone, and froze instantly.

In the night, a song began, and that song was grounded in the noise of Tre's frantic heartbeat, combined with the cop's heartbeat, the noise of the cop car's engine, the whisper of the wind, the sound of a toddler laughing, and the low, hitching sadness of a woman crying. There were many other sounds too in the making of Tre's song ...

...a far away car alarm...
... a soft but intense argument between a husband and wife...
...the sound of water trickling into a rain gutter...
...a stray cat's desperate, hungry noise...

The cop gets out of his vehicle. There is something nervous in his walk as he approaches the walking shadow that is Tre. The determined footsteps of the walk joins the song, and the music swells until it is rich and deep and throbbing with heartsounds of these two people in this moment.

"What are you doing here?" is the first lyric.
"Going to work," slightly defensive ... is the second.
"Let me see your I.D," is the hook.
"Why?" is the chorus.

A rather raggedy car trundles past leaving a mean drum beat in its wake as the song swells toward eerie, orgasmic crescendo.

_____

An unarmed teenager was killed today is beginning to be something I am, personally, becoming numb to. There are so many levels to this type of thing that it makes my head hurt trying to figure out how something like this happens and why it's this often. So, I'm not going to name the names that inspired the writing of this particular post or tell the story of the boy who was, most recently, shot by the cops. I'm not going to ask why people can't just see other people as human beings just like themselves, or why the media, dependent on world view, paints a victim in whatever shade of funeral garb suits their particular agenda. I'm not going to judge it at all. 

It's simple for me. A dead kid is a dead kid, and that is sad. And unarmed dead kid slaughtered in the streets is worse. Whatever happened to: "Stop, or I'll shoot?"

Life means less and less everyday. That is a fact. As the division between rich and poor grows ever wider, people without money are going to be ground up for meat soon enough. Their lives mean nothing. Throw some gang signs on them, and it's their own fault they're dead. They deserved it. 

This post is about  #IfTheyGunnedMeDown 

It's a smart way to see people in all their clothes. Meaning, some days I'm a thug and some days I'm a princess. All days I am the same person. 

And I don't deserve to die because I wore a hoody on Tuesday of last week when I was feeling funky and wanted the whole world to know that I was tuning them out by hiding in the waves of my hood. Or posing with some menace. Or throwing up a gang sign that I don't really understand or care about --- shit just looks cool, man. 

Check out the #IfTheyGunnedMeDown pics. See that people are just people. 

Favorite song:

Turning The Water Off In Detroit

All the ugly things

you ignore

Will one day

knock upon

your door...

With grisly face

And ghastly grin

Those fuckers will ask

To come in...

What will you say then?

The water is off for a lot of people in Detroit, Michigan. It seems to me that Detroit is being tortured by a very skilled and deliberate kind of maniac. First, Detroit was robbed of it's resources, leaving it a barren place, empty, lonely, desolate. Isolation. Solitary confinement. A booming city became an absolute ruin in my lifetime. And it wasn't burned to the ground, but smothered to death. Slowly and methodically. Secondly, the place became the stuff of nightmarish legend in its own time. "Don't go to Detroit," etc. A bad place filled with bad people. Dangerous and foreboding. There are fantasy stories about demon cities that have better legends than those of the city of Detroit. 

With all it's jobs taken away, the city of Detroit appears on little internet shows about ghost towns. Curious travelers wander dilapidated buildings during the bright and safe light of day and show the eager viewer the remnants of what once was a big beautiful American city. Blame gets tossed around about how exactly the collapse of the city happened. Was it the people? Are they so terrible? Was it Big Business moving on to less expensive labor? Was it this? Was it that? Was it mishap or malicious?

Again, the water for a lot of people has been turned off in Detroit. Because the city has nothing, then the people who remain have nothing. They can't pay their water bills and so when those water bills went over a hundred and fifty dollars, the city started turning off their water. 

THERE ARE INFANTS IN DETROIT WITHOUT CLEAN DRINKING WATER.

I can't express enough DISGUST to take that in. 

IN AMERICA--the SO-CALLED GREATEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD.

The arguments are, and there are always arguments for this kind of blatant bullshit, that the people didn't pay their water bills and, therefore, are not entitled to water. To that, I only say that water should be free. I understand all the bullshit and all the crap about the fact that it's filtered (rather) and provided with ease through faucets and shit, BUT, water should be free. A person should not be allowed to suffer without clean drinking water in America. EVER. 

In Total Recall people on Mars were being charged for AIR. That seemed so fantastical to me when I saw it for the first time. It's not so fantastical now. I can guarantee, the day it comes to pass that there is a way to charge for the stuff, many people will have their damn eyes bursting out of the sockets for lack and other people will either stand idly by and watch or relish the fact that they can afford it and look down from their air-laden chambers upon those that can not with great disdain.  

It amuses me to no end that, if some foreign dictator was doing this, America would pop its nosy ass head up and judge that guy. "How Horrible," our dear old Uncle Sam would say. "Savages!" he would cry. 

The people in Detroit aren't poor enough? They didn't go from pretty good, secure lives to abject poverty fast enough? They didn't have little enough, barely maintaining existence in what has become a fallen hell-hole. Now... they can't even have water? 

Is this murder?

Is this forcing people to move to make room for some clandestine something else?

What is this?

What is it REALLY?

What sick fucking SADIST is in control of this?

_____ Sidenote _____

I can't draw. I don't take pictures. None of the artwork here is mine, but belongs to the creativity of marvelous others. I post them because I appreciate them for one reason or another. 

Not a thief--get robbed too much for that:)

Poetry 101: By A Pretty Smart Kid

Life...Not Really

.

The life lived to please another

Is barely a life

It's filled with a painful strife

A strange pain it is, like no other

But why be bothered?

When people's only objectives

Are to hold others as captives

Humanity's desire to prosper, smothered

There will never be a day as equal 

There will always be a food chain

Where we feed off of others pain

Telling children that everything is fair, is quite deceitful. 


*

Not mine
Just love it. 

Thor turning into a girl--NO.

{I'm going to eat the words in the following post. I'm not going to erase them, but just full on EAT these fuckers. I was wrong here, and while I still love Thor to pieces and pieces in his sheer unadulterated maleness, my view on the issue has changed.

This happened when Johnny Storm, a popular comic book character from the Fantastic 4 became a black guy at the whim of someone in Hollywood. I listened to the arguments made for Johnny being white and staying white, and I saw some of the same arguments that I proposed here. 

I became just a little bit disgusted with myself in the viewing of those arguments, quite frankly. There's a part of me, the creative part, that wants to say that it's cheap to change the makeup of a character physically in order to draw in a larger audience--and that this may be the reason these companies change these characters the way that they do. But there is another part of me, a hopeful part that looks at this and sees something rather wonderful. I can scarcely believe that this might be true, and yet, I still hope that it is now that I have seen it. 

In the end, we are all the same, and the little shit doesn't matter. A hero is a hero and it doesn't matter what their raciE, gender, or sexuality is if they're coming to save your ass some terrible day when you desperately NEED saving. 

It's so easy to see the bad stuff first. 

But... 

There is the potential for great beauty here. 

I apologize, dear Marvel, who will never see any of this anyway. 

I was wrong. }

______

My initial thoughts on Thor turning into a female were pretty fucking negative. It seems to me that these large creative companies will do anything in order to gain more readers--anything but create original content, that is. It doesn't seem all that hard to me to create the female superhero that they would want. They have all the time and the money in the world to do so. The whole nature of their job is just to sit down, think, and be creative. I dare to say that this would be a simple job for me--a dream job. And, yet, here they are ... screwing this up. Lazily. But, I believe, with good, albeit greedy, intent. 

Thor is an old myth and should be respected as such. As the son of Odin, just gender swapping him (as I originally thought) was a nightmarish concept for me. I have come to find that this isn't the case though, and I give Marvel a little credit for that. They do take the time and try and build a reasonable story for their characters. I think this is a stupid, rather unnecessary turn in the overall plot of Thor's comic life, but, hey, whatever. 

The hammer apparently says that whoever wields it will have the power of Thor. Thor for some reason can not wield the hammer anymore. A woman finds the hammer/is given the hammer/gains the hammer in some way and BAM she's Thor now--name and all. 

Personally, I wouldn't do this. She's not Thor, she's whatever-the-hell-her-name-is. It feels cheap to me. But, it's a plot, I suppose. And with this plot, I can hope for the day that Thor gains his damn hammer back. 

Less negativity. 

More patient spider waiting until things are right again. 

I understand that a lot of females don't read comic books and Marvel is desperate for the market. This move is a blatant pandering toward a female audience. It's the wrong kind of move in my humble, insignificant opinion. All they're going to get is a bunch of teenage boys stroking off to glossy fold-outs of Lady Thor (with a certain amount of apprehension), which is, basically, the same thing they had before when Lady Thor was, oh say, Wonder Woman. 

In India, women are being killed at an alarming rate. Little girls dying before the age of five years old by brutality and murder are commonplace. Rape and child brides are ordinary things that the police don't take seriously. The laws are screwed up. Being a woman is only a little better than being a dog, and one has about the same rights. China prefers boys, the suicide rate for women there is sky high. In Africa, they're cutting off female sexual bits so that they never experience pleasure. Lack of education. A small, limited world view purposely kept that way, etc. 

While these things seem far away from the Marvel-verse, most intelligent women are aware of them on some level because they have to be. Create a hero from some of these issues. Big tits, a shapely ass, and a big ole stolen hammer are not what girls need in terms of spending time in the Marvel-verse. Don't preach. Most people will be bored to death, and it's certainly not what I mean. Insert, somewhere in Wonder Woman's plot (since it's so hard to create an original character), a thing that matters to females, build a greater plot over it-- a more common plot, and teach the world both men and women a little bit at a time. Gain the readership desired. 

Turning Thor into a girl, physically, is not going to be the answer to the  problem in terms of gaining female readership. As a BIG THOR fan, my only thought upon hearing it was something like: "OMG, Thor, how'd you lose your power and how will you get your power back?" That's the plot I'm interested in when it comes to Thor. She could fall off the nearest bridge for all I care. 

She looks both moody and annoying--in that Joker Why-So-Serious type way. 

The people at Marvel have one of the greatest, creativity free, beautiful, jobs in all the world. How are they fucking this up???

*

It's My Blog And I'll Cry Into The Empty Void If I Want To

Itachi

About as close as I'm ever going to get to an alter-ego. 

I love this mofo. 

He fucked up so bad trying to do what everyone told him was the 'right' thing that he ruined himself. 

The world told him lies and he believed them and by the time he'd realized that those things weren't true it was too late. 

I can empathize with all of that. 

Rambling, yo.

Poison Ivy

Poison Ivy 

Late at night 

While you're sleepin'

Poison Ivy comes a creepin'

Around...

Currently writing the above for reasons. A goodly portion of those reason is the story's been requested. However, Harley Quinn reminds me of someone I care deeply for. Her relationship with the Joker is brutal and pretty one-sided as far as actual love is concerned. She deserves better. Poison Ivy is better. While also NuttButters, Ivy has a certain measure of common sense. She also retains, if written correctly, the capacity for love. 

I think they're cute together. But even in the picture Harley is clutching a Joker doll. So, yush...drama. 

Not really what I want to talk about though. The story is for a pseudonym of mine. I have no doubt that it will be worshiped as all things that alternate me writes are worshiped. It's only when I put my true name on things that they go terribly...wrong. That they get overly judged if spoken about at all, and mostly likely, ground filed and buried deep. It's a weird thing being me, capable and, yet, so very incapable at the same time. 

I woke up this morning from a dream about zombies trying to eat me. I have the dream frequently, so frequently in fact that I know the streets and the hallways of the main building intimately in this city that doesn't really exist. In the grips of that particular series of dreams I have to rely on myself for escape that never ends. There is no end to the dream, just the next part, the next terror, and the next horde. Its a horror movie with no stops in which I am the star. Helplessly, I battle out of one life-death situation just to find myself in another without end. I wake up and at some later point I am thrust right back into that terrible battle world. Things clutching at me, grabbing at me, trying to turn me into something ... else. Something that I am not and am in horror of becoming. And it never stops while I am dreaming, not for a second. In the dream, I can't even pretend that I'm okay, that the situation is not dire, or that I'm going to survive without turning into what I can only view as a monster. 

Yeah, cray-cray, I know...

I am beyond complaining about things at this point. Here, I am merely thinking out loud in a way, you can read it or not, fuck off or not, it doesn't matter much to me. But if you are reading this, I want to frame you a few questions that I've had to deal with in my time doing this. The kind of questions that might invite dreams about invasive zombies hordes trying to tear you apart. 

Question 1. Do you get embarrassed at the thought of someone reading the things you write?

Answer 1. 

No, it's fiction. I do not write erotica because I am incapable of writing anything else. I do not view it as cheaply as that--a last resort, a cheap thrill. I think that's because I'm not full of shit and I don't pretend. As a matter of fact, I hate pretending. I am terrible at it and it's a huge problem in terms of progression. 

I put a lot of work into the stories I write. I tend to be plot heavy in my expression of the worlds I am working in or creating. Nothing I do is cheap, and nothing I write isn't from the heart. I have stories in places where people are begging me to finish them, but the amount of time and effort involved is so strenuous that I have failed to comply with their demands. Even in fanfiction, I adhere strictly to the character as they were created by the original author and the same goes for the world they've kindly let me 'borrow'. 

Too much work to be embarrassed, thank you. 

Question 2. How much of this is from experience?

Answer 2. 

I have been asked this question again recently by someone that I like very much. Eugh, though. 

All of writing is an experience and it draws on the things inside of you. Do I actually need to have a dungeon in my basement to write about one? Does Stephen King need to be a child murderer because he killed Ralphie Glick in Salem's Lot?

Is Anne Rice a goddamn vampire?

If I really fucked a bunch of fairies in some manor house somewhere, I wouldn't be here penning this dumb ass post, I'd be gone, baby, gone. 

I use my imagination just like PBS told me to when I was five. 

Where my imagination tends to go may be another question entirely, but I write more for other people than I do for myself. "See a need. Fill a need." 

Question 3. When did you become interested in gay men?

Answer 3.

If I support love, truly, then I support all of its consenting adult forms. Poison Ivy and Harley are up there today because I support that too--not just gay men. Ultimately, I support LOVE. 

Why?

Because it's fucking right, that's why. 

I support Civil Rights. 

I want Bradley Manning to realize his dream and become Chelsea Manning (And to get the fuck out of prison, btw). 

I don't believe in closets in terms of people. 

Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, More-Than-Slightly Racist Gandhi, fucking Joan of Arc, William Wallace, the American colonists original idea before they fucked it up and killed all the Native Americans and enslaved everything they could get their hot little hands on... 

Freedom. 

Question 4. Don't you know what color you are?

Answer 4.

A significant X asked me this question. It hurt me to hear it coming from him, but I understood it--nasty little swipe that it was. 

Yes. I know exactly who I am. And I also know how the world perceives me at first glance. Those things are at odds.

In order to walk around in the world, I have to pretend, which, I have already said, I do not like to do and, truthfully, tend to forget. 

A good example would be: 

Standing in line at some counter in my neighborhood and this guy had on an The Art of War by Sun Tzu t-shirt. He was standing in front of me, minding his business, doing his own personal dance, when I began a conversation with the person I happened to be with about the book. That man turned around and stared at me like I had suddenly grown a second head. 

My question is: Am I supposed to pretend like I didn't read that book, take notes, and write a thirty page essay on it with footnotes eons ago just so that guy doesn't feel uncomfortable?

Is this world the Hell I don't believe in? 

That Is All.