Tom and Zack

Sometimes its just like that… You are sitting at your favorite place for potato juice then you realize you don’t even fucking drink that anymore. So you order some bourbon and start to relax when you just can’t. There is tension… so you do some social media bullshit. Then it hits you what a mistake that is because the world seems to be going to hell in a handbasket- oh wait just us.

After the bourbon settles and I stop looking at news, I am actually thankful. I force people to listen to whatever I want on the jukebox by using my phone to override the next pick. It’s the little things. It dawned on me as I usurped some slash-my-wrist 80’s emo bullshit with some Rage that holee shit! 25 years ago when you were doin whatever the fuck you were doin like oh ya trying to finish high school while navigating teenage motherhood-ish…oh wait, I didn’t have my own kids but I had some my parents made so that was just me. Anyway a pivotal moment in music happened. I can always count on this album to tap my feelings with all the intensity I feel. I don’t need to know the same exact things, that happened – I just need the Rage.

Killin’ in the name of

quarter century of lives lived through pain unheard of

Where was I when things goin down

Kickin’ it safe in my skinny albino alpaca town

Beat a girl to the ground or did you just fuck around

No idea what those boys been through

How those girls feel shamed

All the times we cause the pain

I’m a silly white girl with privilege

Such as it is today

I work for less pay than the pyramid’s top

but what the hell have I to say

Complaints

I make myself sick

I want for nothing

Full belly

Shelter

What more could I wish?

Who am I to complain?

WHO AM I TO COMPLAIN?

Who am I to feel pain?

Who am I to be pissed, when much is denied to so many

and I am the one who took it away

My starting matters not

Nothing

No

Thing

The skin I wore with luck galore

It kept me safe and whole nobody’s whore

but it couldn’t protect the rest

Ask my bro… he’ll protest.

His shape, His life

Mold my love and passion

His skin was no protection

Nor his gender from action and detection

Sad fact is we ARE human

Our race plays only plays a part

but our being our soul… it comes from the heart

Our drive

Kill-love-hate-protect

We have a choice each one

We are the metamorphosis of our choices

We choose what we become…

Do we become the forces?

The same that burn crosses

Let them cause holes in our spirits

Causing tears and fears

Are we inferior

am I in fear of years

Does skin matter so much

Or does our heart determine us

Do we let the established tell us

Or do we

Me

You

Tell them who we are

Do we stand up and testify

Do we take the power back

Take the Power Back

Ridin’ the Scales

The BiPolar Express game board has an update. I figured it was more a game and less a ride when I found out about the judgmental motherfuckers judges but we’ll get there later. It is definitely still an analog board so at least I can play along, I can keep up and my rose colored glasses are firmly mostly secure. Right now I can’t find the name of this updated addition but it has hills and scales and some other junk… I can’t really tell what sort of hell attraction this is but I’m scared excited.

There are many judges and they are disguised in several forms to keep you on your toes, never knowing when you will be under their scrutiny. They also have the ability to go from regular person to judge at any moment without warning – effectively shapeshifting without changing shape. You get scenarios and have to navigate through, coming out unscathed by the judges. I know you are excited about this and ready to play along- even though you don’t know the rules. But since I don’t know either… boom! Ready?

Here is the caveat… judges are not given training and they are not pre screened for mental defect. Also, judgment is on a gradient scale with many factors to the scale. I don’t know how the scale is formed but here is what I know… it can be ass. You think you are good and you are suddenly hit with a ration of shit. But whatever, it’s BPE2.0 Lets go…

First up- the units have been trudging along their merry life. They are miserable and try to suck you into their life but you resist. For this you are judged- you are not a good child… But you do give. You replace electronics and with one of your sibs pay bills and fix things as needed. For this you are judged- you are a good child… But you don’t come around. You don’t call and you don’t like them. How dare you not come around and be sucked into the vortex of grump? How dare you work hard and earn a living and better yourself and your situation while allowing them to stay stifled in their own…. You are continuously judged because you have neither done well enough by them nor for them. By bettering yourself, you now “think you are better than us”. ?!? But if you deny something they have requested you must not be doing well enough because you can’t even spare a few dollars but you can spend $500 here or whatever there…. You should not spend your money how you like. Judgement: Fail

Next up: Wait… I think I found an exit door. Maybe it will get me to pizza and they will have beer. I will investigate. Because I’m pretty sure I will lose the game if I don’t go medicate.

#truth

It’s All About Me

It seems lately I don’t want to do much of anything. Obviously I haven’t been writing, or I wouldn’t have that awful lag time between this and my last post. And that old adage that depression breeds creativity may have been real at one point but right now it feels like bullshit. Right now I want to create… a nest of blankets and take a nap. I want to go to sleep and catch up on what feels like 3 years of deprivation. I want to create a mind that doesn’t feel the stress and frustration of actual adulting. I want to create a bridge between how I used to create and now, so I can go back and drag its ass to the present.

Sitting down to write used to be fun. I wanted to spend more time at the keys than most other things. I thought of shit to say all the time. And I didn’t give a shit about who read it. If I was talking about you, oh well. You probably earned it. Chances are you earned worse than what I said, but I was being kind-ish. Okay, maybe that’s a stretch but its relative. Then people sorted out who I really was. In my actual life. My anonymous outlet ceased to be an outlet but a chore. It became an exercise in ways to disguise my truth. I don’t want to disguise my truth.

My truth isn’t always kind. My truth is that I get legitimately hurt by people in my life and my efforts to sort that out include writing about how painful it is. If seeing your actions hurts, maybe you shouldn’t take those actions. My truth is sometimes judgmental because as much as we try, sometimes we are judgmental. Sometimes its okay and sometimes its not. But its my truth. I am okay with it. Because sometimes I learn when I bear it.

So I don’t want to shroud my truth in bullshit. If you can’t read it, then don’t. I am not going to apologize for my truth. No, I am not going to start calling out names and using places and telling people where I live. But if you already know, fine. Suck it up and understand that sometimes it is about you. Sometimes it is not. Either way, this is my truth.