Get Woke, Bro…
Get woke to the idea that there’s more to life than you may know, like how human beings are one of the few ‘civilized’ creatures in a natural order of savagery, and that being civilized is thus an aberration, if savagery is indeed the norm where life on our sweet Terra is concerned.
Get woke to the idea that the sex industry wouldn’t be what it is today if not for the adolescent urges of men, and the social constructs ingrained in our consciousness that determine what is and is not desirable; constructs which are reinforced by the expression of those same adolescent urges.
Get woke to the idea t
I was still a bit groggy when I stumbled into the all-night diner, laptop in hand, ready to have a cup of coffee (or five) as I downloaded my podcasts. I didn’t usually come in this late but it was the only place open at the moment and I needed a reliable internet connection. I could put one foot in front of the other but I had to concentrate more than usual to keep balanced. A neighborhood character named Mario was sitting at a back table holding court with any and all denizens of the night who would listen, or who had nothing better to do. Most were homeless and were just happy to be a part of something regardless of the venue
So now that my 'day' is winding down, my mind is playing around with that old cliche about dating that says you should always stick to the 'half your age plus seven' formula to keep your affairs age appropriate. Well, here's a handy little chart to help give you a leg up in that arena so you don't have to do the math yourself... ;-)
Age Appropriate Range*
14 14 - 14 59 36.5 - 104
15 14.5 - 16 60 37 - 106
16 15 - 18 61 37.5 - 108
17 15.5 - 20 62 38 - 110
I found myself trying to reach the bathroom in the house where I once lived, my abdomen fit to burst from the accumulation in my bladder. Blocking my way was the grandmother I had lived with back then. I felt a wave of irritation wash over me and proceeded to grab her by the hair and throw her a few feet out of the way, at which point the house around me fell away. I dropped through the floor and began falling into a vast, black chasm. Terror set in but just as the rising sickness in my stomach was about to abate I landed on a hard rocky surface. I couldn’t see very well but I noticed rocks of varying size around me, scattered here and
Once I was safely inside my abode, I took a quick look around to see if anything had changed. It hadn’t, of course, but the tedium of poverty is such that any minor change of detail can mean a hell of a lot in terms of mental well-being. I dropped my keys on the homemade wooden stand by the door and drifted over to the kitchenette on the East wall to the left. The refrigerator was, for all intents and purposes, bare – a squeeze-bottle of yellow mustard, a half-empty jar of mayonnaise on the brink of expiring, a brick of margarine that I barely used for one reason or another, and a bottle of shit beer left by an acquaintance
As I turned the corner to the entrance of my building, I collided with a Marine recruiter who was out and about trying to con people into signing up to become state-sponsored murders. As I picked myself up, he apologized and then tried to hand me some literature.
“Fuck off, Warmonger” I said, annoyed at the 11th-hour disruption of my escape back home. I didn’t exactly grow up in a military family but they were sufficiently patriotic (blindly so) such that it left a sour taste in my mouth for all things conservative and inherently ‘murican. Thus, I took every opportunity to ‘stick it to the man’
As I came near the park, anticipating a sit-down to sketch whatever caught my interest, I noticed Chester sitting in his usual spot at 5th and Main. Chester was one of the chronically homeless in these parts; dirty clothes, grizzled face, missing teeth, a plea for help written on cardboard ignored by pretty much everyone who passed. He had a few feline friends who would sit with him day after day, but rarely did he have any company. I wasn’t so committed to the park as I had thought, so I stopped at the neighborhood deli and bought a couple of sandwiches, intending to share one with Chester as I sat with him for a while.
Now that 'Faux-Patriotism Day' has passed, I figured that I should try and get this edition typed before my meds kick in and everything goes south, considering for the moment that it's the most focus I've felt in a few weeks. It really sucks having to be a part of the large chunk of patients that doesn't respond well to psyche medication. Sure, I feel better over all than I did a year ago and I'm able to produce a slightly greater volume of work than before ('greater' meaning slightly more than nothing), but that doesn't mean I feel good in any tangible sense of the word. I may be breathing but I certainly don't feel alive. And I probably wou
About midday, I decided it was time for a walk. I didn’t get out much, owing to my aversion to bright sunlight, but there was enough breeze and cloud cover to make for a pleasant sojourn. As I left my building, I noticed the florist across the way arranging flowers in a lovely rainbow motif. I thought to myself ‘What a nice idea for this time of year...’ As I turned the corner, walking in the direction of the park, I caught the scent of fresh bread coming from Antonio’s Bakery. I wasn’t in the habit of eating bread myself but I’d often observed that the scent of almost anything fresh-made
I have a bit of a problem with transactional thinking. I don't like living in a culture where 'favors' are a currency and bribes are a prerequisite of good business.
I have a family member who would, every time he took a vehicle to a certain repair shop, make certain to buy a case of beer for the workers as a means to secure favorable attention for his vehicle. Furthermore, this same family member has actively admitted to resorting to bribery, or the facilitation thereof, in order to help an associate get into a certain military program where said individual would have normally been rejected. He has also openly admitted a willingness to take
I had a decent chat with my therapist earlier. Didn't really want to be around people today, been feeling that bad, but I went in anyway. I've been growing ever more skeptical of late that talk therapy will lead anywhere useful, at least as far as my mental health issues are concerned. My depression seems to hinge more on medication type/dosage and inconsistent diet than anything related to the intellectual. That's not to say that I don't have mental stuff left to work on; merely that sitting in a room talking to a therapist might not be the best avenue to take any longer...IDK...
Frankly, most of the time I feel like an airplane on its last
Well...it's been a pretty horrible week or two...one or two bright spots aside... My sleep patterns have been even worse than normal, medication doesn't seem to be doing much good, therapy just seems like an endless holding pattern of intellectual masturbation and mental dead ends... Frankly, I'd rather be anything but alive at the moment... :depressed:
At least my idiot Uncle has decided to fuck off back to Fundie-ana, so I can finally resume a somewhat normal schedule, at least... :shrug:
Before I get to it, though, I'd like to give a brief lesson on word definitions, as it were -
Word 1 -