Don’t you love those
“Here’s what I said,”
“Here’s what I meant.”
“thank you for tonight”
really ever meant
“I’m trying to convince myself that it wasn’t a dream.”
“I’m alright, and life is okay”
“My pain gets overwhelming sometimes.”
At what inconceivable point
did humans stop acting like humans?
Blessed with the ability
to efficiently express
every moment of every day,
and we’re content to
dismiss what we feel
and turn emotion into travesty.
I used to subscribe to that theory,
that emotion was weakness,
so act accordingly and be strong.
But no more.
I’m starting a revolution.
Some days I’m happy, somedays I’m sad, and sometimes it switches on me in the course of an hour or less. Just because I HATE you sometimes doesn’t mean I don’t LOVE you all the time. I am full of aimless dejected hope and angry, violent desire. My love is fierce and compassionate but my eye is cold and it takes a lot of time and patience to warm me up. Love me and I will love you, stay with me and I will stay with you. We are HUMAN and my one consuming thought is getting to know the emotion of you.
You are beautiful and ugly.
Be a never-ending spectrum of humanity.
And unapologetically express yourself.
They fell in and out of love. They fought. They loved change and resented changing. Their friends all shook their heads and stopped listening. Hope was faded and tattered, but like an old family photo, cherished and held close to the heart. Every now and then one would forget that what was out there was worse. And eventually they just realized who they were going to end up with, no matter what. And it wasn’t about the honeymoon-period pandering bullshit. Nor was it settling. It was the most beautiful kind of love, that twilight sky, fresh green grass, and icy air feeling love. That love that smelled vaguely of pine trees and quiet mornings. Not many else can say that. Not many else can say that every kiss contains fireworks and everyday is a new adventure. But they could. Eventually, they will stand alone, their friends all muttering under their breath as they walked away, but at least they still stood.
You might say that this chapter has ended, and you’d be right.
But what people don’t understand is…
They are the book.
They don’t ever happen without personal conflict. They don’t work without personal infiltration and exploration. Personal victories are the direct product of personal warfare. And right before you become victorious, you almost fail. You almost falter. You almost fly a personal white flag. You are constantly on a knife’s edge.
And after you’re the victor, you have to deal with standing in the wreckage, and looking at the trail you left behind you.
Everyday for the past twenty-two years he has been fed the same meal, just one a day. Everyday he ventures past his bedroom door and is fed the same thing. When he was first born, he didn’t think anything of it. His despair is a relatively new one. Growing up, it was pretty tasty but he wasn’t focused on it. He never realized what eating other things was like. And then there was this unease. His friends started tasting other food, describing the sensation and taste in words he wasn’t even able to fully comprehend. They’re off eating meals and he… was just getting texts about how awesome it was. Sitting there, in his culinary prison cell, he gave in to depression. He was convinced that nothing would ever free him. And then, almost 21 years into his sentence, someone made him a new meal. It was wonderful. Full of exotic spices and notes that transcended language. He ate one, two, three helpings, until his belly was going to burst. And then… after that night, that person took it away. And he was back to eating the same food he had been for the 21 years prior. A year later, he still masticates and ingests and deals. But all he can think about is that one meal. That one shining moment in a dull life.
At some point I lived elsewhere. For a short period of time. But I’ve been back for a long time and it hasn’t gotten easier to deal with.
They make me seem selfish. Because I’m not afraid of the night, I’m afraid of nights without you. And I’m not afraid of heights, I’m afraid because I’ve already fallen, long ago. I’m not afraid of giving up, I’m afraid because I’ve already given everything up. And I’m not afraid of the future I’m just afraid of a future without you.
So try to understand why I sound much too cautious and maybe a little cold because… these are things I’ve heard before and they’ve yet to end well for me.
I really am trying not to make this about me. But I can’t help the thoughts inside my head. They’re there. I’m just trying to ignore them.
I need a drink. And maybe, depending on where my night goes, a handgun and a single bullet.
How much universally constant societal unrest do we have to witness before realizing that the status quo was a coping mechanism, a false construct put in place to make people in power feel safe?
They need to be taught that they are no longer safe and that they are now being expected to answer for their crimes.
All knowledge is a corruption of past data. From every doorstep springs a million different paths. So, armed with a continuous stream of information about the people that are merely ghosts of their past selves I can’t help but know for sure that there are now choices to be made. I could conceivably make these people’s problems mine still. I could be angered when they get hurt, even if their pain is a direct result of their actions. I could be passionate about people that have never had a passionate bone in their body. I could waste my time and effort on people that have never spent either on me. Or I could take a step back. And make a very, very difficult decision.
These people are not my people.
Their problems are not my problems.
I can be more careful in choosing who I care about.
Because you’ve made it clear you don’t deserve it. You make these horrible decisions, ones that make me seem like a sober angel, but you don’t listen to the people that have proven their worth and care about you.
Point is, I’m doing taking slings and arrows for these people. And anytime anyone tells me a story about them or tells me about their feels about them, I don’t care how upset it would have used to make me. My reaction will always be hands thrown in the air and a “They are no longer my responsibility.”
All of you need to take a hard fucking look in the mirror and take some responsibility for your own damn lives.
Ranting about people being respectful and not making light of it and then reblogging memes about it, and therefor being disrespectful and making light of it, kind of defeats your purpose and voids the warranty on your soul.
And to turn it into something else is disrespectful too. Who cares if he could buy a gun but you can’t buy weed legally. Who CARES that people are calling him mentally ill. By the way, all indications points to something loose and jangling around in that guy’s head. You can SAY that we’re only calling him mentally ill because he’s white, but I can assure you that I am calling him mentally ill because he thought he was the Joker who used a gas bomb and four guns worth of ammunition in a crowded theatre, along with booby trapping his apartment building to blow. Yeah I’d say that’s pretty sick. And no, I don’t think they should let him off for it. I don’t care if he is sick, he killed 12 people and injured over 50. He should be put down like a sick animal.
The point is, this is not about YOU. This is not about YOUR amusement. And this is not about YOUR cause. This is about lives that have been torn asunder. Children and parents and aunts and uncles and grandparents. Their lives will NEVER be the same again. They will forever be looking over their shoulders in crowded areas. I wouldn’t doubt some will never enter a theatre ever again. The ONLY thing you should be doing is at least communicating thoughts of support if not finding ways to actually help these people. The only thing we can do as a community is reach out to them and let them know they are in our hearts.
And anyone who can be so selfish as to disagree… well. I have nothing left to say to you.
Cuz honestly I feel like I’m shouting at the sea. I realize that what I say isn’t going to always be important to everyone, and I know I don’t always feel the need to advertise when I read something posted by someone whose post ALREADY HAS hundreds or thousands of notes, but a little acknowledgement would be nice. Or maybe that’s pathetic.
I mean here’s the deal, I try to keep it middle ground. I try sound-boost issues without entering an opinion on issues I shouldn’t have an opinion on. But then there are some things, like police brutality or the complete and incredible corruption of the U.S. government, our banks, and religious systems that I can’t stay quiet.
And it’s like this: If I stated my opinion, I’d be vilified. Vilified because I truthfully believe that the current system is so rotten but so entrenched that the only way to clear the dead and dying is a controlled firestorm. Like how forest fires make way for new growth. Sometimes, yes, I believe that violence is an answer. That if our government, specifically created with the idea that the people have the voice, takes our voice away and refuses to give it back when we march, when we picket, when we boycott, and when we write that the only thing left to do is water the tree of liberty with the blood of patriots and tyrants. We cannot fit into the idea of non-violence when the established system is what gave it to us. They allow us to have it because it’s easily ignorable. “Yes, have your marches and your protests while we count our profits and drink scotch 600 stories above your heads. Which is where we belong. Above you. And you are where you are meant to be. In the streets.” Well, when are we going to stop? When are we going to realize that we are only holding the picket signs they allow us to hold and start using the stick as a spear and breaking through their windows? When are we going to use marches as MARCHES and not strolls of self-pity and hopelessness? When are we going to start using our megaphones to direct our troops? They have taken our rights away. Our jobs, our careers, our families, our hopes, our meaning. They took away the police as our protectors and turned them into troops against us. They have given us despair. And then they give us elections and circuses to distract us. Who honestly still believes we have a two-party system? We don’t. When you hear them disagree it’s just a theatrical act. They are paid by the same people. They work for the same people. They feed off of each other like parasites. “Pay your taxes [cuz we’re not] get jobs [while we don’t do ours] and keep your heads down [so we can shit on them].” That’s all we have.
So yeah. That’s my opinion. And if that makes me some sort of violent, horrible person, then thank God cuz that’s all I want to be.
It’s clear. And my response is clear. The internet is NOT a place for me to voice my opinions on anything. On anything! On music, on culture, on religion, on society. For fuck’s sake if I said that the sky was blue, I’m sure someone would get offended. And it doesn’t matter. It’s all-pervasive and destructive. Only SOME people get to have opinions. The rest of us shut up. And with some things, it’s understandable. Like I don’t get to tell women how to react to rape or tell a PoC or WoC to “calm down.” That I get. And I’m totally in support of that. But some of this shit is so pointless. I have seen people fight over the stupidest shit here on Tumblr. Over DJs and food. Viciously, as if this fight would be their last and they wanted to go out snarling and scratching. AND IT’S ALWAYS THE SAME THING. Some annoying little white girl who thinks HER opinion is FAR MORE VALID than anyone else’s and will shoot down, belittle, and straight-out harass anyone who doesn’t agree. I’m afraid to speak here. I’m afraid to be myself. Because honestly, myself is one opinionated motherfucker and I just don’t want to deal with the same hate-mail I see other people getting.
When people start stating opinion as fact, and turn truth into deception, and silence the voices of the people that disagree, that is a sign of the doom of an epoch. Because these people grow up. They become in charge of the world. And that silencing becomes more and more pronounced and the oppression deepens. Next thing we know we’re in a brand-new dark age with no one left to help us.
Fuck. We can’t even help ourselves.
They won’t LET us. Those self-righteous politically-correct hate machines sitting behind keyboards using the keystroke as a swordstroke are taking over.
Fuck it. I’m going to go all Douglas Adams and put a paper bag over my head and lay down on the ground and just wait for the end to come.