Happy, sunshiny nothing (Vulture Droppings)

I'm trying to sift through the word salad that is my brain early in the morning. I tried to read, but a group of words kept floating upon to the top trying to get out of my think pot, trying to be noticed. I am beginning to feel that none of my thoughts are worth anything. No longer am I sitting in a void, surrounding myself in nothingness like a blanket. Feeling secure in sorrow is not enough anymore. I am letting myself fee that I contribute, but what I contribute is worth far more than any theory of relativity or cure for cancer. My contribution is that I actively contribute, with full intention, nothing.

I no longer take everything in and lie amongst the waste, the detritus of broken promises and dreams, but I repackage it and sell it at no cost to anyone around me. The worst part is, they have no idea they are buying it. I could be sharing it with everyone else...I could be bilking them of all their money.

Life imitates art, or art imitates life. Everything is reprocessed, repackages and resold anyway. Everyone is mindlessly running toward the end. We argue and prattle on, fighting for and debating and making sure we 'win' to notice that the we are the fodder for the world's churning toward the end.

I'm my own monkey

Yay. I'm positive again.


Elated, can't you tell?

It's no accident. I noticed I was starting a day off on a good foot, and jumped on. I know why I am not known for being positive.

It takes effort. I also realized what a dick I was being to my son. All the time wondering why we always got into arguments, knowing he is autistic and  his triggers. I always had this ideal set for him. An ideal I knew was not fair. Maybe I was subconsciously trying to normalize him...I say subconsciously, because I abhor the same practice in others. I have finally let myself see him as the awesome kid he is.

Another thing that happened is that I have been steering clear of my own triggers for anxiety and depression. This takes effort, which I knew because I never wanted to take it. I believe I grew accustomed to setting the bar low. When expectations are low, I succeed more. More importantly, I am less likely to fail. But this had  the opposite affect on me. Years of skating by on misconceptions and assumptions, I viewed every mistake as a failure. A big part of it also is inventing or leaning too much upon 'afflictions'. I'm not saying the depression and anxiety are fake. I have had quite real anxiety attacks and had to dig myself out of deep dark holes to say that. But I would find myself writing off problems to my depression and anxiety. Using them as an excuse allowed me, not to keep the bar low, but to make sure I stayed under the bar. A more simplistic way of viewing overall issues, I let pity take over my life.

I realize that life is a series of ups and downs. More downs than ups, and along with my low bar lifestyle, I have grown cynical. I am sure this has also contributed to my depression, constantly analyzing things and pointing out the flaws in everything cherished by society. However, that last one, constantly analyzing things and setting things to the light, are things I have found I quite enjoy.

That's the hurdle I'm concerned about conquering. Going back to the easy and convenient tools of existence. A good analogy is an addict relapsing. Drugs and alcohol are probably the most accessible crutches out there. People have been avoiding problems and falling back on alcohol for who knows how long. The crutch makes life easier to the person using it, while avoiding the issue.  I used to smoke and drink, but how do I keep the monkey off my back when the monkey is me?

Doubt and Faith: Watch your attitude, mister!

I recently found myself in a conversation with a flat earther a last week. Right off the bat, I felt as though he was angered, maybe threatened. But here's the thing: if you don't want to argue or if you want to be among people with whom you agree, then go to church.

In the attachment, you will see that he initiated contact via private message through my Facebook page, Atheist AF (There's also Atheist AF Group for private discussions). The FB page is a place for nonbelievers to read things about atheism, agnosticism, the fallacies of religion and funny stuff. I have shared it and posts from it on my personal FB page, but I don't push it, and will attempt to continue to not promote it. I want as an authentic audience of this site as possible, whereas anyone who can find the site can look around and engage. So, this is exactly the kind of conversation I wanted.

I was overjoyed that someone had messaged me through the site. As I previously mentioned, the
gentleman was pissy. It made me smile. I mean, I would rather people not call me names and condemn me to hell (I am honored that he took the time to say it nice and pretty), but it kind of proves my point as of late.

The few times I come out of my shell and engage people on the issues that are important to me, there is a short exchange before they say, 'Let's agree to disagree.'   People have different attitudes toward discussing things in which they believe, or faced with contrary opinions. Some leave it alone, but others become incensed. 'How dare someone I don't know have a different opinion than mine, not to mention the fact that I have no obligation to respond to them.'

So, those of you who follow the page Atheist AF (go like it if you haven already) may have already seen these.

Enjoy.

Scarlet Gown

Blood coursed from her veins, seduced by the warm bathwater.

Diffusing through her liquid tomb, it billowed around her legs and hugged her body. It flowed out of her as had his love for her from the cavity left by his decayed heart.

Red from white, her skin released her gown for their dark wedding. As he drank the poisoned present she left for him, she floated in her spent life. 

They both slowly faded. 

A red bride and empty groom, scarlet and hollow they would be.  

Forever. 






Photo Credit: Subbotina Anna (Adobe Stock)

Nauseated Logic (Brain Droppings)

We all struggle with our own problems. Some are lucky and their problems are tangible. They can easily execute a solution. Others aren't lucky. Their problems are their own minds. For one reason or another they have been told that they are no good, other by those who are supposed to care for them or themselves.

One of my problems is that I second guess myself. If I don't want to talk to someone I need to talk to, I won't  because I'm most likely wrong. Tell someone why I don't want to do something, I either end up giving in and going or I don't and I spend at least the next hour convincing myself I made the right decision. So when I think I have things figured out, nailed down, ironed out and it changes,

I realize I don't need other people's approval to have an opinion. I know I don't need to be afraid of the majority of confrontations I could possibly encounter standing up for myself. But there's something else about me: I love being the victim. I want something I can point to and say, "See, that's why I failed." Not doing something, not trying, not talking to someone is the easiest way to say that to myself. If I choose not to do something, then I can say to myself it was because 'I chose' not to. 

And I know that sounds like bullshit. Certainly smells like it, I know that. But the next line in that logic is that I say, 'See, I can't be trusted.' I sometimes say, jokingly, 'set the bar low so they are surprised when you do something really well.' I don't want to be expected to do something because I don't want to be blamed when it all goes to shit. 

The problem with this, aside from the headache these mental acrobatics pound through my head, it has set a limit on my creativity. I have convinced myself that I suck as a writer and no one wants to hear what I say. Subsequently, I don't give myself the amount of practice I need to grow as a writer. 

Look at me now

He hit the wall and his body went limp. His skin and clothes snagged on the porous and jagged red brick as he slowly slid to the ground. Scraping and tearing sounds harmonized together, voicing its pleasure in his pain. 

Just after hitting the cement, he tried to rise. He rolled off his left side and hit the wall, this time at a much lower velocity. This knocked his 200 pounds over on its back and he rolled onto his side and fell onto his front. Noticing the cool pavement on his cheek, he took that pleasure away from himself and pushed up with both palms planted firmly on the ground. He lost his balance twice, once from his head swooning. The very wall that had aided in his self immolation helped him up, getting a scrape across his palm for good measure. 

The security light at the top corner of the building clicked on, highlighting his efforts.

He stood as a drunk stands taking a break from his sojourn home: One arm propped out, a palm supporting his swaying body on the wall, head bowed. The blood ran down the front of his face and dripped off his nose. It flowed from his head. The skin on his bald head burned and tingled from scrapes and lacerations. 

The security light clicked off.

"Don't turn off the light...One more time coach," he slurred, "I swear, do good papa. oranges in the can until Sunday. " 

The irony was that he could not drink anymore. Every time he drank, he drank to a stupor.  The memories were clearer when he was drunk. The real life monsters morphed into unspeakable beings of darkness and pain.

He took a deep breath and, waking up the security light, shuffled past the end of the cracked pavement onto the sparsely grassed dirt of the playground, fifty feet from the wall. He turned and face the building.

He swiveled his head, and jumped up and down, shaking out his hands and arms. 

"Watch this, you...ahhhrgh"

He sprinted as fast as he could and slammed into the wall, his head taking the brunt of the force. 

Sister Mary would find him in the early parts of dawn. Seeing him out of the corner of her eye, she thought it was the drunk that sometimes fell asleep on the grounds, so she did not notice his bloody face or his caved-in head until she looked up from her keys and locked her gaze with his dead eyes. 

Been too long, for a lot of things.

I have been out of sorts lately, and I realized I haven't been writing on mu blogbenough...at all.

A lot has happened in the almost six months since I last published.

I have learned to listen when I tell myself I don't have to stress. I have actually been losing myself in my own stories and have been making a point to read and write. 'Friends' kicked to the curb, being found by a FRIEND (one of the few people I can disagree with on big stuff and not want to strangle).

That last one is what I want to write about. He reminded me that aside from what I have come to beleive about myself is bullshit. I do habr an open mind. That I can hold different beleifs (sometimes polar opposite) from my friends; be able to talk, disagree, and be honest with each other not worrying about whether or not we hurt feelings.

All those differences that ended friendships, I realized were never si much about the difference on morals and/or opinions. They were just the deal breakers.

I wish we were closer, but I am so happy he put forth so much effort into tracking my lazy ass down. I want so bad to introduce my loved ones to his.

Love ya, bud.