Lana Del Ray. I’ve just become a fan. In 2018, anyone who speaks up honestly about the status quo, where all evidence points to the end of homo sapiens as a species due to self-destruction, is worthy of my time. That is all.
Nineteen days until Fleetwood Mac perform in Sioux Falls. I have my ticket. I’ve survived off the anticipation for months. Alas, I don’t think I’m going to be able to go. I’m extremely triggered by the Kavanaugh issue. It’s taught me a valuable lesson about reality. It’s not a new lesson. Just one I’ve been reluctant to embrace as truth. My bad.
At the same time, I’ve been fighting for abuse-free care from my local VA. It’s not going well. Over the course of two weeks, it’s become evident the VA has no intention of doing anything about my complaints of abuse. I thought access to the benefits I was awarded was worth fighting for, but now I’m having second thoughts. I’ve been asking myself some difficult questions.
Why do I even want medical care? I think I’ve been conditioned to desire good health and preventative care. I listen to podcasts that support proactive mental health, and the benefits of therapy. While I agree it can benefit most people, in my experience since acquiring PTSD while on active duty, mental health treatment is a synonym for abuse.
I don’t have the luxury of choosing a provider. You get whoever you’re assigned to at the VA. I resent the time and hope I’ve wasted. It’s worsened my condition and provided me with more nightmares and phobias I didn’t have before making the mistake of seeking assistance. I strongly suspect my skin color and gender are insurmountable barriers.
Since these are things beyond my ability to change, I feel foolish for even bothering. This is earth. People of color and women are abused on this planet. I don’t know why I thought I could be an exception. I’m a doof. It’s not as if my life hasn’t been seemingly designed to reinforce this fact. What was I thinking? At least I finally understand my place. No more shocks and surprises. I hate them.
I’m upset. Despite my multiple listening sessions, I missed a single word uttered by Eminem on his latest album. It’s a hate word said deliberately out of spite. I love Marshall Mathers. I can’t listen to his music anymore. I can’t support him as an artist any longer. RIP. I’m an ally to the LGBTQIA community. It’s a lifelong commitment I take very seriously. I’m sad and disappointed by his decision.
More so by how he responded when called out for it. When I was a child, I used this word flippantly without knowing what it meant. I’m relieved my parents helped me understand. I’m still ashamed of this because I now fully grok how words can cut so profoundly, people end their lives. There are hate words that whenever uttered expose a bigot. No matter how enraged you are with a person, these hate words are off limits.
I’m hypersensitive to the word, nigger. Thousands of closet racists have outed themselves by using it in anger as a weapon. The word Eminem used is no different. Both are words that evoke terror, anguish, and pain that never goes away. They inform us the person who spews it doesn’t view the target as a human being. It often causes a physiological reaction: fight or flight.
Sometimes, the target of these hate words will lash out violently as if they’re fighting for their life. Haters rarely see it coming, and are usually shocked by the intensity of the reaction. In some situations, it’s not even voluntary; such as when being targeted by multiple haters at the same time. I have PTSD, so in my case, I may freeze, or react instantly, or react in a delayed manner after freezing when attacked. I’m also an Army veteran, which means my reaction could easily be lethal.
Lots of Americans carry knives and guns (much to my disgust.) I hope I’m clear in relating how spewing hate words can get you killed. There are no excuses. Attacking anyone for who and what they are is always wrong. Nobody gets to choose their body or mind. Most of us try to build a joyful life with the body and mind we are born with and spend years growing and developing into decent adults. Some opt for suicide because they can’t cope with being hated, attacked, and abused for things with which they have no control. Children are especially vulnerable because they have little experience or coping skills.
I know of children as young as nine who committed suicide after being harassed by haters. I consider it murder. I don’t understand why anyone would want to inflict such horrific pain on any human, (especially a child,) for any reason. Nobody can change their sexuality, neurotype, race, body type, etc. There’s no such thing as conversion therapy; It’s torture, just as it would be to strip off the pigmentation layers of my skin.
Hate is evil. It’s ugly. Frequently it’s fear and ignorance based. It’s not a quality of a decent human being. Hate is a vile defect. I hope Marshall Mathers exorcises his willful hatred. I also hope nobody who hears it is too vulnerable and hurt to carry the pain he amplified with his privilege. I know for a fact Eminem had fans who are members of the LGBTQIA community.
I hope Eminem chooses to become a sincere ally to the community, instead of a cruel inflictor of devastating pain. It’s never too late to grow and become a decent person. The same privilege that allowed him to commit this crime can also be used to apologize as well as help others learn and grow. Until he does, he’s dead to me.
It’s come to my attention (thanks Jade and XD) that Nicki Minaj and Cardi B both use homophobic and transphobic slurs. In light of this, I cannot support either artist. It saddens me that people who possess such talent and creativity choose to be so hateful to a community of human beings. Hate kills. Life is full of choices and opportunities to grow. There are no excuses.
I support artists who use their talent and energy to share their experiences, and add love and light to the world, not those who choose to amplify hatred and ignorance. I’m fortunate to have people in my world who speak up, help me grow and strengthen me on my journey. I apologize for not recognizing these crimes sooner.
I’m thankful to the artists and creatives who continue to help me become my best self, such as Jade and XD, Amy Lee, Stevie Nicks, Sheryl Crow, Beyoncè, and many others. I look forward to spending more time growing with them. ✌🏽💪🏽💜
I have a new friend named, Logic. She’s strict but comprehensible. She told me a secret I’ve longed to hear. I’ll get what I want, she promised. All I have to do is wait. At first, I wasn’t satisfied. I want what I want right now. But after a while, I thought it through and decided I accept. I know too well where impatience leads. I recognize my options, and I’ve made my choice.
I’m grateful for this bit of control. Patience it is. Logic also told me I can endure until the promise is fulfilled. I wanted to argue, but facts are facts. I dislike pain. It’s uncomfortable. My gut is on fire most of the time. But it’s just pain. I’m stronger than pain. It takes a lot of effort to refrain from laying down wherever I am. Gravity pursues me. I’m suddenly able to sleep for hours at a time, after decades of insomnia. I’m thankful.
Logic told me it doesn’t matter how I feel. Feelings are inconvenient irrelevancies. They’re merely consequences of flesh. It’s silly to identify and acknowledge them. I’ve decided to let them go. I’m glad I mastered self-discipline. When they arise, I’ll focus on what I want. I’m going to get what I want. Just not when I want. Good enough.
I’m stronger than I’ve ever been and trust myself to endure. I recognize other wants satisfied. Such as insulation from other humans. Isolation is gentle and sweet. It’s the only habitable zone for my broken flesh. I cherish it, for it allows me to be. There is only one human I can be near without holding my breath. He fascinates me. He knows, understands, and loves me. I set him free daily.
If one day he doesn’t return, I hope it’s because he found joy elsewhere. I want to attend the upcoming Fleetwood Mac concert. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to go and celebrate the band among so many others. Logic told me I can go. I don’t have to smile at, look at, or talk to the other fans. All I have to do is show up and find my seat. I even have time to practice driving there before showtime.
I suspect I’ll feel a great deal of joy at the concert, despite my moratorium on feelings. So be it. I’ll bring plenty of tissues.
Welp. I’m in an uncomfortable state of hate. So much so, that I’m dedicating all energy toward overcoming it. I don’t know when death will come, and I don’t want to die with hate in my heart any more than I want to live with it. I’m performing a hate elimination on myself because hate has seeped in. This will not do. I’m ashamed of the fact that I feel hatred toward those who harm me. I’m not a child. I’ve had time to work out why this won’t do.
I read recently it’s a symptom of PTSD to feel like death is right around the corner at all times. Ever since gaining this insight, I no longer berate myself for living my life as if it’s about to end. It plays nicely with my logic obsession, too. Bonus. Death remains a certainty, after all. As I grieve the many losses brought on by the treason going on in America right now, I struggle to refrain from blaming those who continue to support this audacious crime spree.
I realized today I’m also hating those who accept it, make excuses for it, and lie about it; but most of all, those who pretend it isn’t happening because it doesn’t affect them directly. I hate them. I understand continuing to hate them will literally kill me, probably with some form of cancer. Despite this, it’s what I’m feeling. It’s already making me sick, and Mr. Sandman gathered up all the sheep, then blocked me offline. OFFLINE. 😱
So here I am, talking to myself so I can walk myself through this. Nobody reads this blog, which is surprisingly liberating. I have other shit to do. I have projects I’m passionate about waiting for my attention. I don’t have time for this. Death rides my ass like a rascal with a pony, remember? So I need to get over myself. My gut is a ball of fire that keeps stealing my attention because I’m wasting precious time hating. Sigh.
The path to love is understanding, and it’s what’s missing here. I don’t understand why some people choose to be wicked. I hate them because I don’t understand them. I see and feel the damage and hurt they decide to inflict on others, and it makes me furious. But more so, the ones who wrap themselves in a delusional shield of lies to further their own agenda. Treason is against the law in America. Law applies to all or none.
I don’t think I want to love those who harm deliberately. I just don’t want to waste energy and health hating. At this point, I believe indifference will do. I’ve spent more time thinking about this than I’d prefer. My ongoing celebration after emerging from beneath a rock has fizzled out. Agoraphobia used to be something I considered negatively. My views are evolving. I no longer fear it as a negative possibility. I see it as a (neutral) lifestyle option, now. Yay.
I say yay because it works for me. I don’t go anywhere unless I want to badly enough to fight off the anxiety that will entirely be part of the deal. It takes a lot of energy to fight off anxiety well enough to blend into society. I define blending in as preventing myself from inflicting my anxiety issue on others while going about my business. On days I’m not up for pulling off this feat of strength, I stay home. My life, my rules.
I don’t like witnessing someone having a panic attack, so I figure nobody does. That shit is contagious, yo. It makes you feel desperate to do anything to make it stop, even when it’s not happening to you. While it’s completely involuntary, some things increase or decrease the likelihood. My life has been an ongoing experiment to learn ways to keep from becoming Anxiety’s bitch as much as possible while experiencing as much as I can.
The wicked are having a hard time making up lies to explain why 45’s head is lodged so profoundly up Putin’s ass. It’s not easy to be audaciously vile in plain view of the world without a substantial sociopathic personality disorder to back it up, eh? Silly upstarts, tricks are for the wicked kids. Like the con artists posing as spiritual leaders, raking in all that bling for their televised performances. They’re pretending to accept 45 and Putin’s crimes because it’s a fair compromise to overturn Roe vs. Wade. 😂 🤣
They don’t really care about killing babies, do you? Put that on your jacket, Melanoma. Oofda. I guess I need to express my hate before I destroy it. The wicked kids stole children from parents and put them in cages. Then snarkily announced they don’t give a shit. This is hella provocative behavior of an evil nature. In a country that refuses to take responsibility for its gun problem to the extent it recently made them more accessible for the documented mentally ill. How is this not going to end in tears?
So, yeah. I’m feeling overwhelming hate toward incredibly wicked people. It’s ruining my joy. So I’m going to meditate on what I want and work it out until it goes away. Then I’m going to dive back into what makes me happy without this fire burning in my gut. Peace.
I just started on A Feast for Crows in the A Song of Ice and Fire series, by George R. R. Martin. I can’t believe how enthralled I am by this series. Ten years between readings was too long. I didn’t realize it, but I’ve become a better reader over that time. I was so focused on earning my degrees, I didn’t notice how much my mind stretched in the process. Bonus.
I’m astonished by how much I missed before. It’s made rereading the novels incredibly exciting. I knew it was a gem, but I didn’t realize it was so shiny. The details I overlooked drastically changed my predictions for what comes next. I feel like I discovered the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and some elf just walked by, chuckled, and said it was right behind me the whole time.
I’m at the part where the HBO series and novels depart. I prefer the original. I’m baffled as to why HBO chose to do it after so successfully maintaining loyalty to the book as long as they did. I strongly suspect it was done to up the ante on visual intensity. It’s a whole new level of irony. Americans aren’t satisfied with ordinary horrific violence, rape, and torture scenes. Too few of us have witnessed or survived such atrocities to prevent the American sociopathic emotional numbness to simulated horrors.
The widespread general innocence of the reality of such things is one of my favorite things about being American during my lifetime. (Sadly, we’re creating our own atrocities to make up for it. Human trafficking is at an all-time high thanks to the worldwide immigration crisis.) Humans are so fascinating. Like, in The Matrix, when they explained how people would awaken if their lives were too perfect, it stuck with me. It struck me as extremely likely when I heard it. We’re so like that. Heh.
I have a theory, but it’s (initially) based on religion, (so I’m not too attached to it.) Imagine we’re all here to learn from our experiences until we become wise. A perfect life would be a futile strategy in achieving this. Born rich people generally support my findings. Their lives are so deep in the bubble, they can choose to bypass a vast part of the challenges that lead to personal growth. There’s no need for them to do anything but exist to (pseudo) succeed in this world.
Being royalty seems to temper this, but otherwise, most of them live and die unnoticed by anyone outside the bubble, (99% of everyone.) The born rich are usually like NPC’s (non-player characters,) in the game of life. Clearly, I don’t think being born wealthy is automatically a benefit. If reincarnation is real, it’s perhaps a recovery life in-between some hard ones. Heh. (Karma is a bitch regardless, though.)
Thank goodness for the exceptions. Like Willow Smith, (my youngest adopted-without-her-knowledge big sister.) I pay attention to them because they seem to have uncanny wisdom, which is precisely what I’m gaining from rereading A Song of Ice and Fire. The insight into general human behavior is believable and immense. It blows my mind to realize how much useful information I’m receiving while having a blast obsessing over the details and being intrigued. George R. R. Martin is a most impressive author. I’m so grateful I can read. I wish everyone could. Peace.
I had rap lyrics drop on me again, today. Only this time, I think the words are for me. 😳 After no thought, I decided I’m going to give rap another try. I’m older and wiser now. Gangsta rap is not in my wheelhouse because I can’t fake it unless it’s for comedic effect. No gangsta ever came from South Dakota. Heh.
The violent, angry tone of gangsta rap used to baffle me, but today it finally clicked. As I pathetically spit the lyrics granted me by The Muse, I felt an aggression building within me. I analyzed it and realized it’s because I was having a one-sided conversation with people I don’t trust. 🧐
I imagined what these untrusted people would spit back, and responded accordingly. In real-time. In hindsight, I’m appalled by what flowed. It started out like a Jerry Seinfeld observation and progressed into me threatening to shoot any man who dared objectify me. What the entire hell? I was rapping in the privacy of my shower, but it’s still disturbing.
Granted, exaggeration (overreaction) is an overt ingredient, I don’t like that I even japed about violence toward the living. So I changed it up and drew from my own life experiences. The results were better this time. But I thought about the Linkin Park song that goes, Hate my rhymes, but hate everyone else’s more. (Except for that last bit, because I don’t have the receipts to throw shade on anyone’s verses.) 😂
I’m going to start a rap journal. Probably on a computer, (because my handwriting is no better than that of a fifth grader who isn’t trying very hard.) I have Grave’s Disease, which means I slightly tremble. I adjusted to this minor irritant with my violin but decided handwriting is no longer necessary. (Aside from my signature, anyway.)
It’s weird how I just know when inspiration is for me, and when I’m merely lucky enough to get a glimpse in it’s rawest form before it lands on the artist(s) who will create with it. I know others have this ability. When I see an artist and someone I’ve never heard of in a legal dispute over a song, I strongly suspect it. It upsets me because I can’t imagine a reason (besides greed) to do anything but jump up and down with excitement if a famous artist recorded a song that came to me as well.
The song is being heard. I can’t think of any other reason for a song to exist. I’m going to share what I create using Creative Commons. That way, if someone else received the inspiration too, but interprets it differently than I do, they can potentially benefit from my version. It may clarify what they envision, or contain elements that can be recycled. If they gain from it financially, yay. I’m hella flattered, and probably just became a fan. ✌🏽
I installed the new legs on Lt. Dan, (my desk.) I also broke down and got some speaker stands. I like the extra desktop space it created. I’ll do a studio photo update soon. I love the new computer I built for music production. It’s so fast it makes me giggle.
I’m ripping DVD’s and Blu-ray’s for the Plex server I built over the weekend. I have several complete series of animated TV shows stacked up and ready to rip. They finish faster than I’m able to get that damn cellophane wrapper off the set.
I plan on continuing until my entire collection is on an SSD hard drive. This way I’ll be able to watch everything I own on my iPad Pro, iPhone, Android phone, Macs, and PCs, and all my TVs. When I travel, I can watch it using the hotel wifi. Yay.
I’m re-reading the Game of Thrones series, by George R. R. Martin. I watched the HBO series up until The Mountain crushed Prince Oberlyn’s head. It disturbed me so much I bailed. It was only a matter of time with this series. I can handle the books, though.
It’s been years since I read them, and now the HBO actors are who I visualize. I recognize how faithful to the novels they were initially. I appreciate it, even more, this time around, as it’s more apparent.
As a writer, I’m focusing on several specific aspects of the story during this reading. This change of perspective makes nearly everything I’ve read re-readable. Yay. Not that I was worried I’d run out of books. Heh. I love revisiting old familiar worlds. I’m off to rip another series. 💜