Reblog To Share A Fat Blunt With Ur Mutuals

Not interesting

I need to get the fuck outta here. 

These roommates really are not working out. 

Like, being here irritates me. 

I need to be alone. Truly alone sometimes. 

I cannot be hearing the bickering and arguing that is the byproduct of your fucked up, sad marriage. 

I can’t come “home” at the end of my 9 to 5 what a way to make a living day to scary cable news propaganda. That shit gets to me on a deep level. Like, maybe it’s the holy spirit helping me recognize with banal evil is. Seriously. 

I probably need to be sitting down and talking to someone. I don’t want to take medication cuz it does nothing. The only drugs I’ll be taking are for the fun of it. Seriously. I’m only going to alter my mind with drugs if I feel like it. Not doing it on doctor’s orders if I can help it. Fuck that. Real talk though. I need to be talking to a professional probably. Don’t worry too much. I just need the perspective of someone with a more level-head than I’ve got. 

Aight. Back to our regular scheduled programming. 

Got stuck at work way too long and it fried my fucking brain.

I’ve been trying to read more. The journalist Seymour Hersh was on an episode Intercepted (By the way, if you listen to podcasts and you do not listen to Intercepted, you need to be listening to it.) and he said that before you write, you need to read. Of course, Sy Hersh was talking about journalism but it applies even if you aren’t a journalist. 

I’ve been struggling with reading for a few years. One thing that has helped is reducing subvocalization when I’m silently reading. No, I’m not becoming some kind of freak who is obsessed with speed reading but it makes things flow a lot more smoothly if I am not reading shit to myself in my head. It never occurred to me to try and cut that out. It’s something that I’ve done since I was a kid but no, I don’t need to do that. I can just sort of look at the words and fit everything together. Almost feels like a superpower actually. It’s weird. I’m re-discovering a love for reading, I think. 

I randomly bought a poetry collection to expose myself to verse. It’s garbage.

Of course, I’ve got no idea what to say. Not a god damn thing. This is just another Monday survived. I knew I was coming into a shit show. I knew all weekend that a potential horror show was waiting for me. I handled it. I held on. That’s all. Tomorrow is another day and there will be another day after that and another day after that and so on until I die. 

Yeah. That’s all. 

Some days just are. No sugar. No flowers. They just are there to age you. 

Heavenly Father

When I lose my religion 

I come to you. 

When hope is just a bitch

Maybe I lose it and I pray. 

I reach for the phone and start dialin’ for parts unknown. 

Heavenly father, 

one more day. 

Have mercy on your boy

cuz he’s for sale 

and he’s last year’s model. 

Have mercy on your boy 

cuz maybe today is gonna be the day. 

Have mercy on your boy

cuz he never asked to come out of that cave 

into this blinding white light screamin’ 

like he knew exactly what the hell was up. 

God damn it. 

Have mercy on your boy. 

Can ya do that? 

If not me, for someone who needs it more. 

Amen. 

Tucker “Heil Trump” Carlson

I woke up irritable and thinking of Tucker Carlson’s stupid fucking face. It’s the weekend. It’s god damn lamentable that my thoughts are dominated by that soulless motherfucker. 

I struggle. I chase my nickels and my dimes. Dolly Parton sang that workin’ 9 to 5 was a hell of a way to make a living. It is. You do what need to and then in the background, you got Tucker Carlson corrupting the minds of your parents and your grandparents with hatred for The Other, immigrants from Mexico and elsewhere in Latin America. 

I loath Tucker Carlson. I would not mind him undergoing some kind of Damascene conversion. That would possibly be a beautiful thing but real life isn’t a movie. Real life is messier and sadder and dumber. I doubt he has it in him. Barring some kind of Damscene moment where he comes to see the strangers in our land as not strangers but brothers and sisters, I would love to see Tucker Carlson and others like him hit with urine filled balloons everywhere that they go. 

The Tuck is on my mind because I saw a clip of him last night where he basically called undocumented immigrants trash. It’s not surprising. The man does possesses a seriously kinked social conscience but it’s chilling. It’s clear to me that what we’re seeing is an insidious campaign of de-humanization aimed at undocumented immigrants. 

I’ve said it before but it’s hard for me to shake. We all live our lives. We deal with all the insignificant bullshit that comes with that but in the background, the way is being paved for horrifying crimes against humanity. We shouldn’t kid ourselves. The crimes are already in progress.

I’m no expert on the infamous Rwandan genocide but I’m reminded of the fact that Rwandan media executives were convicted of inciting genocide. See, the poison that was being put out over the airwaves primed the population to grab machetes and go out killing. 

Do I think that we might see vigilante mobs going out to kill Latinos? We’re about one Fox & Friends segment away from something like The Purge. Okay. Yeah. Maybe I’m completely wrong about that but you can’t just write people like Carlson off as harmless clowns. We do that at our peril. 

What Happens

What happens is the machine 

goes through us 

too damn quick

til we got nothin’ but fun size Milky Way wrappers 

in a Halloween treat bag. 

-

What happens is sometimes you find yourself ponderin’ what hell is. 

It’s geographic region. 

The shit that goes down there. 

Always in the same ZIP code you’re in. 

It’s Monday eternally. 

That deep, polar bear cold you feel all over your body

never quits 

and everything you got to do to eat that day 

is gonna kill you. 

-

What happens is sometimes you live 

and you’re happy enough to (almost) thank god. 

Your walk has swagger to it.

Maybe the air that slowly kills you tastes sweeter. 

You think maybe it’ll all be okay 

till it all wears off like a crack hit. 

- 

What happens is life. 

What the fuck do I call this?

If you know where the dream ends, you’re being watched. 

If you can find the seams, the stuff you jerk off to that you don’t tell anyone about is being written down by a government agent who is slowly falling in love with you. 

You make the nipples of their soul hard enough to cut diamonds. 

I clear my throat, “Look. This is bullshit. See, the beginning of wisdom is being able to tell where the dream ends while at higher frequencies. If you can do that, shit will be less scary.” 

See. There were moments here. Undeniably. Some of it was bullshit. Maybe most of it was bullshit but some of it was not a dream. Sometimes I heard right. Sometimes I heard just right. 

That song I know. That I heard somewhere. One time. 

Yo man. I don’t know how I feel about that song thing, man. 

This is garbage, isn’t it? 

Maybe. There were moments though. 

There were moments you thought I kinda had it. 

Maybe. 

Maybe. 

Maybe. 

The audacity. 

to try to utter the unutterable. 

Holy shit, I better stay in my lane, right? 

The crowd builds messiahs. 

Nobody is insane enough to believe that about themselves unless they are high 24/7. 

I don’t gotta worry about that though. 

I’m not that good. 

This though. 

This is courage. 

If you tried. Fuck. That’s cheesy. Good night. You know what I’m getting at though, right? 

Seriously though. Good night. 

The problem with school is that it doesn't teach you to be a human being.