Sweet the Sting

I think what Joseph Campbell was saying that went click was something about how we're all god, we're all from the source, except a lot more poignantly and eloquently, and I just went, "Yeah, that's it, that's what I lost and I need to find." And then I didn't find it, it just appeared again. And it's still there, no matter how angry I get with my goddess. I guess I've just evolved in my faith, in the point where I can get angry with god. Because it was that for a long time, I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to be mad. But now I can. I can while my faith stays somewhat intact. Or repairs itself, at least.

Sometimes Dreaming

Last night Robert, Ashen and I watched four movies on my mom's Plasma HD Bigscreen TV, which was fun. After they left I hung around and got depressed. I put Blue in a more reverent place than the kitchen table, covered in crap; I looked through a journal from one of the worst times of my life and was surprised to find virtually no writing about the stuff that was going on; I looked through my parent's wedding album (enough said); I looked through my baby book and that was really depressing because it confirmed to me that my entire existence is innate. I haven't changed at all in the past 19 years. I'm the same person I was as a baby. My personality is not learned at all. I'm the same as I always was. And it did make me kind of sad that my childhood was only the first three years of my life, but maybe that would have happened even if the tragedies hadn't started. Others would have taken their place. But still...to think that even though my life has tempered me in the fires of pain and injury, that I have not changed for the better...that is sad. I may have changed for the worse. I was not as angry and vengeful when I was a child. But I was acknowledging my fledgling Antichrist powers even then. One of my first sentences was "I'm a demon baby."

But my problem right now is that I can't feel Goddess anymore. I can't get back to that place of perfect faith that I held. And I want to, because I don't see anything else to save me at this point.

The thing is, I'm just so fucking close to losing it. I can't feel the hurt anymore but I know it's still there. It's deep below, waiting for something else to lance it. And when it's lanced....I don't know what will happen. I need something to hold on to. And she's gone. So I have to forge that bridge to god by myself now. It's up to me, but I don't think I'm up to the task.

Guess it's time to figure out.

"Like a thousand other commanders on a thousand other battlefields, I wait for the dawn."

Hikari

I think all my integrity died.

It has, actually, and I just discovered the reason why yesterday (yesterday being at one am Sunday morning).

Up until 8am HST July 1st, 2005, there was ONE being in my life who actually made me WANT to be a better person, because in her total forgiving innocence, she loved me when I was beyond being lovable, and when I was a complete asshole. This made me feel guilty in a good way, and in that guilt, I didn't want to hurt her anymore. So I tried. I made an effort to better myself, an effort to be a good person. And it worked. I was getting steadily better. Still really fucked up, but getting there. Slowly working on it. Working on turning all my senseless rage into righteous anger, and getting past the STAB.

And then she was gone, just like that, and I wasn't even around to say good bye. I still feel shitty about that, and I have lost all desire to be a better person.

I've also lost the ability to fall in love with other people. I think this is because when she was around to love me, I could allow myself to love others as deeply as I did because everything would be alright as long as she was there. I would always have her, even if I didn't have others. So I could allow myself to fall in love. But now I don't have her anymore, I don't have that assurance that someday things will be better and until then, I have my beautiful BlueSky to keep me straight and honest. I can't fall in love anymore, because I can't allow myself to. And that scares me, because I don't know if I will ever heal enough to allow myself that again. I don't know if I'll ever have another who did the same for me as Blue did.

And of course I'm just realizing all this now. I can't say these thousand words to her because she's not here.

And because I don't want anyone to see me cry because I think it's a sign of weakness (only with myself--I don't see others as weak if they cry), I sit alone in my car and play music to make me weep. And I do weep. Usually I have to change my shirt afterwards because it's soaked through with my tears.

It's my only medication now. That and surrounding myself with people so I won't have a single quiet moment. Because in every quiet moment that comes, I think about Blue. And I feel the wound as sharply as I did two and a half months ago. So I have to either find alone-time when no one can walk in on me so I can cry it all out, again and again and again with no end in sight, or I need to wallow in a social life or in video games or anything else that gets me to stop thinking.

I need to stop thinking.

No. I need to grieve. But I can't grieve in the way I need to, because I have to pay the bills. So I need to pretend like everything's fine. And I succeed, until it hits me like a bullet and I gasp for breath.

And if you think I'm overreacting, you lose your firstborn child and tell me that. Because that's what Blue was to me. She was my daughter. She was with me for 13 of my 19 years. That's a long-ass fucking time. I don't think I'll ever completely heal.

Cause a thousand words...call out through the ages...they'll fly to you...even though I can't see, I know they're reaching you...suspended on silver wings...oh a thousand words...one thousand embraces...will cradle you...making all of your weary days seem far away...they'll hold you forever

Yeah. Those were a thousand words I couldn't say, babe. And I regret it with every breath.

Ohne Dich

Philosophy from Greece

Keep this philosophy in mind the next time you either hear or are about to repeat a rumour.

In ancient Greece, Socrates (469 - 399 BC) was widely lauded for his wisdom.

One day the great philosopher came upon an acquaintance who ran up to him excitedly and said, "Socrates, do you know what I just heard about one of your students?"

"Wait a moment," Socrates replied. "Before you tell me I'd like you to pass a little test. It's called the Triple Filter Test."

"Triple filter?" asked the acquaintance.

"That's right," Socrates continued. "Before you talk to me about my student let's take a moment to filter what you're going to say. The first filter is Truth. Have you made absolutely sure that what you are about to tell me is true?"

"No," the man said, "actually I just heard about it."

"All right," said Socrates . "So you don't really know if it's true or not. Now let's try the second filter, the filter of Goodness. Is what you are about to tell me about my student something good?"

"No, on the contrary ...".

"So," Socrates continued, "you want to tell me something bad about him, even though you're not certain it's true?"

The man shrugged, a little embarrassed.

Socrates continued."You may still pass the test though, because there is a third filter - the filter of Usefulness. Is what you want to tell me about my student going to be useful to me?"

"No, not really ..."

"Well," concluded Socrates ,"if what you want to tell me is neither true nor good nor even useful, why tell it to me at all?"

The man was defeated and ashamed.

This is the reason Socrates was a great philosopher and held in such high esteem.

It also explains why he never found out that Plato was shagging his wife.

Light and Shadow

I want to crawl into a trash can and drag myself down to the curb and maybe things will be better in the morning.

Conquest of Paradise

Have you ever wanted something so bad the very thought of not having it makes you want to throw up? I think that would pretty accurately describe my mental/physical state right now. Except I'll be vomiting a lot because I can't have what I want.

And the 80s health teacher inside each and every one of you is dying to say, "No, stop being so negative--of course you can have what you want! You're a person! You deserve it!"

No, I CAN'T. Because what I want so badly right now is to travel back in time to the Late Pre-Classic or Classical period of the Mayan society and live out the rest of my life as a priestess back then...before that land was so brutally destroyed.

Now tell me I can have it.

This desire is always there. It's just particularly strong when I've been studying Mayan history for the better part of two hours.

Thank Goddess For New Zealand

Or at least their pizza.

Official Note from Hell
We, the management of Hell, have not previously endorsed or known about this particular establishment's advertising methods. Now that we are aware, we do fully support and endorse all their endeavors and any such to follow. The topic of this advertisement has, indeed, been part of Hell's Mission Statement for quite some time, especially in regards to Mr. Bush. As for where Mr. Bush and other such bastards will go when they pass from Earth, we are currently working out creating another plane of existence, owned by Hell and operated by Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, whenever he chooses to give up his position as Waste-lock. (At such time as said plane is created, Hell will be able to ease up on our space issues by shipping bastards from the past to their new 'living' quarters.)
Thank you for your time,
-Jezebel Antichrist,
Head of the World Domination Department and
Chair for the Demon Housing Project

Not Angry Anymore

HOPEISNOWHERE
QUICK! What does it say above?

Bnudaldehk So Tajudeuh

E's mucehk so vyedr eh risyhedo uha bancuh yd y desa. Vnus ZG Nufmehk (fruca haqd puug, E bnateld, femm pa Harry Potter and the Podiatrist's Sandals) du so vydran (dryhgc tyt, E muja ryjehk du fung vuin zupc) du kut.

Oac, kut ec bynd uv risyhedo.

N.E.B. TISPMATUNA
Hedfed, uttsahd, pmippan, dfayg
????--2005

If you're not totally confused, you play too many video games.

Don't translate it if you don't want HP6 spoilers. (Though whomever (who? whom? I still haven't learned the difference) hasn't read it at this point is a LUUZER.)

Tied Up and Dried Up and Dead to the World

And now, apparently, I'm NOTHING TO EVERYONE else. Which is the way it should be online, really. I should be more important to people in my life than to people online.

Wow. I'm shaking with anger as I write this. I am really fucking angry. I'm mad at Ryan, I'm mad at Andy, I'm mad at Robert, I'm mad at my father, my mother, GOD, Peter (STILL!), and so many others. I'm mad because I'm tired of being DISMISSED, SHOVED ASIDE, and being told I'm WORTHLESS. (ADMIT: Mom never did this. But I'm still pissed at her.) I'm mad because even when they're not /saying/ this they're SAYING it. In so many silences and fucking unspoken words.

Has ANYONE ever cared about what I might want? Anyone? I don't see any hands. Has ANYONE ever thought that I might have opinions, that it might hurt ME when my friends fuck around the way they've been doing, that it might hurt me really fucking bad when you don't 'have time' right now, that it hurts when I'm reminded again how unwanted fat girls are because you (AGAIN) go for the skinny one even when you say you LOVE personality so FUCKING much, hurt when you break off what NEVER WAS IN THE FIRST PLACE, hurt when I'm TOLD OUTRIGHT that I'll "NEVER" get a boyfriend, hurt when my only link to sanity dies and I'm NOT EVEN THERE (FUCK YOU GOD), hurt when I can NEVER EVER have a POINT in an argument, when YOU'RE always RIGHT because you're the PARENT---has anyone EVER thought that this bullshit might hurt me?

ANYONE?

NO! NO, they don't, and I just smile and take it up the ass like I'm SUPPOSED to, because I am a healer and compassionate and so much more fucking mature than everyone else. I'M TIRED OF BEING MATURE. This is MY time, this is about ME, and MY feelings, and FUCK EVERYONE ELSE.

I am so fucking tired of being a doormat. I'm so tired of passing off compliments, of taking the blame, of being the world's BITCH.

I am NO ONE's BITCH. I am MY bitch.

And yes, it HURTs when you pass me off. It HURTs. And my heart is a muscle so abused and so USED to it that I won't say anything. So it's up to YOU to stop breaking that fragile organ.

Don't be like the rest of the assholes.

Stop slapping me for being me.

a bit heartened, a bit saddened

Taken from an article about vigils held for Cindy Sheehan:

"She is being likened to a modern-day Rosa Parks," Brann said, referring to a leader in the civil rights movement of the 1960s.

The very fact that they have to explain who Rosa Parks is/was....just kind of makes my soul die inside. And really, Parks was just fed up. Not like she had an agenda.

Or maybe I'm overreacting.

Never Look Back

I say never look back, but I don't really mean it. I can't help but to look back. Especially when I know I'll never see you again.

You would have been thirteen today.

I feel like I've lost a daughter.

And I have. I have lost a daughter. I raised you for twelve years and ten months. I was with you for most of my life, and you were with me since you were old enough to leave your real mother and your brothers and sisters, furry bundles of joy to other peoples houses.

You were my bundle of joy. The only one I had in a bleak universe. You were what made it all worth it. When the going got really, really, tough, I kept myself alive not for mom, not for my grandparents, and not for my friends--but for us, because I knew that if I killed myself, I'd never see you again, and you'd be without your mistress.

When no one else could stand me, when even my ever-tolerant mother hated me, and when I was the biggest asshole on the face of the planet, you stood by me. Even when I dyed your fur purple. (And I stand by that--it looked really good.)

You never left me. All my pushing away, all my trying to prove that my worst depressions had me right, all my trying and trying to be unlovable so I could play the victim--and you never stopped loving me. You proved me wrong, and for that I am so fucking grateful.

You reminded me that there is light everywhere, that I just have to look in the right places. You reminded me that I am loved by some semblance of divinity, and that I won't be deserted by that becuase you'd always be there. Even if I knew you wouldn't /always/ be there, I knew that we'd be together, even when apart, and that in the end, you wouldn't die alone. You'd be with your pack. You'd be with your loved ones.

How fucking wrong I was.

And now, with you gone, I can't imagine being lovable again. I can't imagine taking another step forward, because all I want to do is to go back--back to when you were still with me.

Back to when I was still with you. Those words I didn't say often enough haunt me, because now I'll never be able to say them again.

I love you. I love you more than I love my friends, more than my family, more than any man that I've given my heart to (there have been a lot, and none of them worthy). I love you more than all the suns and moons and stars in the universe. I love you more than I love life itself. I love you more than I love me. You were the only one who made me happy. You were the only furry bundle of joy in my life that stayed.

You were my universe. And now you're gone.

coding hurts my brain and hands

So today I found a grain of sand embedded in my foot. Which was weird, to say the least. It was if my foot said "MMM...SAND." and then decided that it didn't like sand anymore, so I felt this hard thing in the soft part of my foot that felt like glass and I wrench it out and it's....a grain of sand. And I proclaimed, very loudly and with great dignity, "What. The. Fuck."

Boadicea

.and if I ever say otherwise, kill me.

Ok, I hate the kissy-face noises that couples make to each other. It makes me gag. And if I ever have a S.O. and s/he does that to me, I'll throw up and then kill him/her.

I also hate PDAs to excess (read: dry-humping in the mall; lots of drool/slobbering whilst kissing; snogging on benches; and not being able to be separated for more than 0.5 of a second, not even to go to the bathroom); phone conversations ending with "No, you hang up!" ad in-fucking-finitum; couples who go to a movie they haven't seen and don't actually watch it (it's so fucking disrespectful to the filmmaker...unless of course you're watching The Land Before Intelligence Time Three Hundred Gajillion and Ten---then by all means, snog, cause it's the only worth you'll get out of the 16 bucks you paid to get in [aside from this exception, see below]); and when people seem to lose their spines when they enter into a relationship. "No, honey, I don't have any plans for the future except to be your spouse and have lots of kids and to do whatever you want to do! Tee hee!"

What I love about relationships (not mine; other people's)......holding hands. Hugging. Quick, sweet, chaste kisses in public (what you do in private is your business). INDEPENDENCE. Compromise without compromise (meaning, I'm willing to work with you on various issues but I will not take your bullshit and you will not take mine). Fun, carefree, non-sexual frolicking through fields of daisies. (Ok, so I'm a fucking hopeless romantic. Are you barfing yet?) Fun, carefree, non-sexual frolicking through the dairy section of Safeway (and this must include big blocks of cheddar cheese, somehow...and yes, I did say 'non-sexual'). Going to a movie you've seen several times already and watched to snog in the back, though if you do this in Star Wars a plague upon both your houses. Playing games of Mad Libs to compose poems/wedding vows for each other. Laughter. Love without price. Love without conditions. A willingness to grow and change together. A willingness to sing love song duets on Karaoke Night at your local sushi bar. Hand-feeding food to each other in that really sweet, very sappy way that only couples can do (and this will, of course, lead to either sex or a steamy snog session on the couch/dining room table/kitchen counter back home, and that's good too).

There's lots more that I love, and lots more that I hate. But this is enough for one entry.

.I've learned that I'm pleasantly furious half of the time.

About everything. Everything everywhere, and everyone, in everyplace and everytime. But most especially, I'm furious about the Gender Wars. I mean the atrocities done from men to women and from women to men: husbands beat their wives; wives kill their husbands in retribution; girls lie about rape and get guys sentenced to jail; men rape women and get away with it; women deal crushing blows with words of steel and men commit suicide; men leave women for one younger and prettier; women leave men for one richer and older; men are afraid to commit but can't admit, and relationships become years wasted in a love that goes nowhere; women aren't ready for sex but don't let on until it's too late to say wait, and if you're lucky he'll pull himself back but you've gotta let him know; and because of all this or maybe a part of all this is men and women afraid to love each other because they might get hit.

With humanity's great capacity for good and evil and great capacity for learning, you would think that we'd begin to get it. That it is harder to walk the path of good, but in the end, so much more worth it.

I'm using Freud's analysis of the psyche as an analogy of where demons, humans, and angels fit on the scale because it's what really does what I think justice: demons are the id, humans the ego, and angels the superego. Angels are so into pure that they won't put nutella on their bagel; demons take chocolate syrup baths and live in decadance without substance. Humans have a nutella bagel once in a while, but mostly eat granola. And therein lies the balance.

But there are...influences. Something pushes humans one way or the other.

I'm begining to bitterly think that it's nothing more than choice.

i want to stop thinking.

Only a Plank Between One and Perdition

.that horrible midpoint.

There is this horrible midpoint between beautiful and beautiful in two different cultures: the aboveworld culture of the beauty myth, thin is in, etc, and the underworld of fat admiration. I am at that midpoint. Camryn Manheim*, apparently, is at that midpoint. At the midpoint, you're 'too fat' for the aboveworld, and 'not fat enough' for the underworld. It seems that the people who like girls my size are few and far between.

And yes, I specify women, because for men it seems not to matter. I wouldn't know, I'm not a fat man (not biologically, at any rate), but it really seems that fat men have an easier time getting dates than fat women do. My dad has had no problem securing three wives and five million girlfriends in his lifetime, and there was never a time when he was 'skinny' (except pre-puberty, but that doesn't really count, now does it?). In fact, the rather portly countenance of my father and his mother are, I'm sure, what I inherited.

Now, I'm not at all blaming genetics on my weight. I know that it's psychosis, years of self-hate and abuse, and depression that has contributed to the size I am now. So no, it's not the fault of my DNA. But my genes are a factor, like it or not. Just as my genes for soft teeth are a factor in my having several cavities and one gold tooth, and just as my genes for bad fucking luck are a factor in my wisdom teeth choosing to come in underneath my middle molars.

Like it or not, I'm big, and like it or not, I'll never ever be smaller than a size 12. (Come to think of it, I wouldn't want to be. My mother thinks I could be a size 10, but that's just too much work. I'll be happy with a 14.)

Yes, my body is huge, yes, I'm a fucking fat-ass, and I wouldn't consider myself pretty. The first two points I'm making are facts that I have accepted, and the third is 1/2 self-hate and 1/2 "Yeah, I wouldn't date me."

Regardless, the self-hate is still huge, still there. It's what fueled my anorexia and made me lose twenty pounds (which I gained back at the slightest whiff of acceptance in Guatemala, where they like women no matter what size). It is what forces me to go to the gym when I'm exhausted and push myself beyond my limits. It's what makes me choose a salad, or no food at all.

These are, in my view, good things. I need to lose this weight. Not for the beauty myth, the non-existent perfect body, or for the purpose of landing a boyfriend (though that would be a welcome side-effect). No, I need to lose this weight because I will most likely die if I don't. Yes. It's sad and it's true. I'm 18 and I'm facing serious health problems because of my weight. I can feel the near-heart attacks coming on, and when I throw out my back or my hip or my knee, I know it's not because of my joints because I drank a fuck of a lot of milk as a kid---it's because of my weight.

Being 128 pounds overweight is no small deal. It is a very big deal. And while I am this weight, I can't have kids, because the dangers already inherent in pregnancy combined with the dangers I now face would irreperably damage my health. I can't get lipo, either suction or selection, because doing so would make pregnancy impossible. Bit of a Catch-22, or it would be if I didn't have another option.

Yes, good old-fashioned working out, eating right, staying fit, and losing weight naturally.

Of course I can't do that normally. I have to do it my way.

So I got a membership at 24-hr Fitness and now go to the gym at 2 in the morning, after eating maybe 500-1000 calories a day. (Remember: 1200 calories/day is a starvation diet.)

*Incidentally, Camryn Manheim is amazing, beautiful, smart, and a wonderful actress, and anyone who thinks otherwise can answer to me and my Feminist!Fist of Death.

.but there must be something else.

Besides this whole 'horrible midpoint' thing, I do believe that there is something else that prevents people from loving me. Or from being close enough to me to love me without fear.

I've thought this for a while, and it was only after hearing it from someone else other than my mom that I really started to believe it.

It's my passion. My utterly raw enthusiasm for life or whatever else I fling myself at. (That includes depression.) If I do film, I do so with abandon, throwing everything I have into that piece of work to make it spectacular. If it's classes, I work my ass off. If it's a relationship, I scare my partner.

And I think that people see this coming before they see anything else. Even if I try to be demure and muted in order to get to the next phase of courtship, it wears off very quickly and the person leaves in interest of calmer, more controllable prospects.

Because let's get one thing straight: I will not be controlled. And I can't be calm. I try to be calm. But something excites me and whoops! There went that plan. So I just have to be myself and hope that someone who is male, likes girls, and is single will appreciate me and love me for who I am.

... ... ... ...

So a life of solitude it is, then.

.hypocrisy is a many-tongued demon.

And yes, I am fucking bitter about this: the shit that people spew about personality and smarts mattering more than the body size/type/looks (you know--mind over matter). It's BULLSHIT. Utter bullshit. The people who say this are in denial. They will indeniably go for a certain type, because it's in our natures.

I, for one, prefer girls who are shorter than I am, and skinnier (and who isn't?); I prefer guys who are tall and slender---but these are just preferences. Possibly completely overridden in favor of personality and brains and sense of humor. As well, totally possible for me to find people who don't 'fit' my preferences as totally gorgeous and attractive. It's not set in stone.

But at least I acknowledge my preferences. I acknowledge that yes, I am human, and yes, I have likes and dislikes. But they're not even written down in spiritual law, much less engraven in stone.

Most people don't. They don't acknowledge their preferences. They pretend they don't care, and then when asked why they won't go out with someone, they'll give bullshit answers: "She's not my type," (how can you have a type if you won't acknowledge your types?) or "I'm going to become a monk and have taken a vow of celibacy." Which is pure bullshit for someone who's 17. I can't believe I fell for it.

You know what? Stop telling me it's not about body size for you. Stop that line. Stop telling me that you care much more about personality, because it's obviously not true: I've been single for four years and you apparently like my personality enough to be my friend, but not my S.O. Tell you what: for once, be fucking honest, and maybe when I see you act differently, I'll consider believing the mind/matter line.

But for now, don't even fucking bother.

All of this Past

Found this delightful bit of writing at this site (courtesy Vox Humana):

Dear Mr. President,

It has come to our attention that, due to a prolonged period of rather adverse weather conditions which has now abated, the United States currently has much of our soil piled up on top of it. Granted, this did not happen during your administration, nor did it, as far as we can determine, happen during anyone's administration. We therefore hold you blameless in this matter.

We would, however, like to have all of it back. This would include silt, sand, gravel, miscellaneous pieces of rock, and, of course, the topsoil. You need not return the groundwater because we do have plenty of that up here, but also to spare you the difficulty of trying to send drippy packages through the mail. Regular post would be fine, but FedEx would be splendid and also go a long way toward repairing your rather sad reputation up here.

Thank you for your immediate attention to this matter.

Sincerely,
The People of Canada

---

Corpse At The Gym

I have never felt so dead inside in my entire life. I feel a great aversion to doing anything that requires emotional energy. However, working out at the gym is fine. When people ask me how I'm doing, I want to say, "I died two weeks ago. How are you?"

There are times when it hits me and I start sobbing uncontrollably for a minute or so before I slap myself and say, "Dude, you're driving. Get a grip!" I have started keeping a box of tissues in my car for this very purpose.

And I think I've lost my...caring for things. If I ask a friend to hang out with me and s/he says no, I'm busy, then I really could care less. I go and do something else. It's not loneliness. It's almost like the loneliness is my comfort as much as the company is.

I don't feel like talking. Silence took my voice. And it's not like the previous 'no talking' bouts I've had. This time I /really/ don't feel like it. So I don't.

I suppose people think I've fallen into a dislike of them. This isn't true.

I just....

I need some time. That's all.

And at the same time I feel like that time that I need will never ever be enough. That no matter what I do, this pain will not ease. This grief will not dissipate.

When I went to go see her, I kept on expecting her to wake up. I expected her eyes to open and see me, and I expected her to smile. I thought my wonderful wolffy dog would return to me.

And even now, I find myself thinking that I should have tried to reach her. That I should have tried to bring her back.

This is how I know that I walk the borders of the Twisted Kingdom. Gray shapes make up my world. I don't know where reality begins or ends.

There is a big, gaping hole in my heart. I can feel her not being there as sharply as I felt her presence when she was alive.

The night before I left Guatemala there was a documentary on a wolf pack on tv, dubbed in Spanish. I couldn't watch it.

Revelations 22:20

PARENTS LIE.

YAY I AM NOT DEAD ON BD!!!!!!!11111oneoneoneeleven

I met people who think like I do: 'fucking Christians' and 'fucking Texans'.

Which is unfair, because I know Christians who are really cool and I know Texans who are really cool and I know Christian Texans who are really cool, so I know that it's just a stereotype and I'm generalizing.

But then I think of raptureready.com, and I cringe at the utter....there's not even a word for it.

Then I think of my dad, who's not even from Texas originally but lived there long enough to /be/ Texan (yes, he does have a gun--3 of them).

And then I think of Bush.

And I realize, generalization or not, there is a Christian Texan in charge of this fucking country--a Rapture-believing, Christian Texan. Who thinks that God wanted him to be President.

Well, you know, God also wanted us to "Love Thy Neighbor", but SORRY CANADA AND MEXICO! And also, God said "Thou Shalt Not Kill, unless you need their oil, in which case bomb the fuckers." Yes. That was in the Gospel of Bullshit.

I'd say we're going to Hell in a Handbasket, except for two things:
1) The Handbasket is broken down--terrorist bombs, you know;

and

2) Hell is my home, it's nice, and where we're going is much, much worse.

One Winged Angel, full version

I need a new mp3 player. mine sucks.

If you read yesterday's entry, don't think I'm being shallow and immaterial and not thinking of my dog. If i think of Blue any more, I'll cry. and it'll be fucking Niagra Falls. I can't afford that yet. Not until I have someone to hold me while I cry, and that's not forthcoming here. So I have to hold in the grief and rage for 8 or so days, until I get home, and be happy and smiley in the meantime. Because it depresses people when they ask how I'm doing and I say "My dog died on Friday." When I really want to say "My daugther died on Friday," because that is what Blue was to me, but that would attract unwanted attention and questions.

I'm so fucking fed up with people's sympathy. I want someone to hold me. For as long as I need it.

Only one person has ever done that for me (though I'm sure, if given the opportunity, others might), and I might get to see him as I pass through LA. If you pray at all for me, then pray that I get to see him and ease my heart's anguish. Don't give me your sympathy. Empathy I'll take. Sympathy I can't stand.

And while you're at it, give a kick to God's corpse for me. She's fucking dead as far as I can see.