In memory of those that are lost, with the hope that they might one day again be found.
This one is for you, J.
(I wrote this and sung while mostly unable to do more than croak… and with the heater on, forgotten in the background… so many fixes to be made. *sigh*)
Podcast: Play in new window
They do say that you have to make a lot of crap before you make anything good, right?
I think this Skylark is mad because it’s negative 3 outside. She’s like, dude, CALL ME BACK IN SPRING.
It’s ok, I have a PushPop now, all is well.
Podcast: Play in new window
I keep reading posts on Reddit and other blogs about children from abusive families. Typically it’s mental abuse, and often it stems from adults so religious that their actions border on sociopathic.
It’s hard to say things like “well X has it worse” when you read those things. It’s hard to say that and then relent to accepting people like that in your own life because when I read about people acting that way it reminds me of my own biological family. And when I read it, I don’t think “wow, good on you for continuing to show these people that continually verbally play with you what unconditional love looks like!”
I mostly think:
Get out, GET OUT! Leave and never look back!
I don’t feel much compassion for these parents that refuse to show any to others. Their blatant lack of empathy and easy cruelty sickens me. My objective sense of morality stops me from entirely surrendering myself to the idea that they deserve to die — but I can’t help that my imagination takes them to places of pain and agony requisite to the suffering they inflict on their own damned kids.
It’s all well and good to have religion, but then, don’t have kids. Don’t subject another human being to your pseudo-biblical bullshit unless you’re ready to go back to Leviticus and be stoned for your own transgressions.
Jesus spoke of humility and compassion, didn’t he? Where does that go? Why is it that all the best parts are so easily eschewed for anything that can be used to justify cruelty to others?
It’s said by some that we are blank slates with a tendency to be good giving and game — but I find it hard to see that anymore. I find it hard to see in most people at all.
Today was the first day I remember in many years (at least 5?) that when my alarm went off, I immediately got out of bed.
I didn’t actually want to any more than usual, but I was able to. It was a possibility, something attainable. Continue reading
I am mostly excited about this date because I want an excuse to buy myself a present.
I was thinking a bracelet. I’ve never had a nice bracelet.
It’s odd to think that I smoked for nearly a decade, when as time passed from the first pack I bought, I couldn’t imagine even doing it for a year.
It’s disturbing how many memories and common situations I remember being entirely centered around the act.
I wonder a little if the reason that it was so much simpler to stop these vices recently is that I don’t have anyone to share them with — and for me, I think that was always most of the point.
In the grand scheme of things, 14 days isn’t a very long time.
It seems odd and a little pre-emptive to celebrate a fortnight, really — but even though it’s just 14 days out of the rest of my life, for some reason it feels like it holds some importance that 6 months, a year, even 20 will not.
Taken as a whole, it does seem like a blip, but taken one day at a time, I promise you — it was a lifetime.
When you think about it, we’re pretty strange machines.
If you were going to make a robot that was true to the human experience, you’d have to make something that broke when you yelled at it.
And how does that work that a brain can be broken by thoughts and feelings? That it can be rendered irreparably or temporarily out of service via things that aren’t even tangible? That we still can’t even entirely quantify?
And if for those of us that sustain damage, there is a fix, why not a vaccine? A barrier for such a clearly fragile organ.
Sitting here, with my dry mouth and reusable plastic water cup, I imagine that I’d like to melt it down into a helmet. That if I willed it to be so I could block the bile of the world out and give my mind a rest. Alternatively, enroll it in a boot camp where it might learn to be less of a pussy.
I could spare it for a while, refusing to let it back in the door until it can do 50 pushups and run a mile without stopping.
But if you start to cry, you’re back on the porch!
For those that have asked, I have posted up the little pieces I have created over time — even the old, the short, and the embarrassing. Just look up for that box that says “Musics” or look down for the link.
I think my favorites are the ones where I was just singing at a hole on my computer — and my parents wondered what the hell I was howling at.
It’ll never make me famous ‘er nothin’ but it’s interesting to look back — there’s just something about it that holds more than an old blog or journal ever seemed to.
Thank you all for your interest, and for being around for a lot of it. <3
I have a pet rat named Molly. She used to have a friend named Mouse because I had this problem where when I got all googly over them at pet stores I kept calling them Mouses and feeling stupid.
Anyway, around the time that I started to remember to call them rats, Mouse died. If that was her purpose in life, she definitely fulfilled it. That and to singlehandedly eat a gallon of Cheerios. She was ambitious.
Today I spilled out the contents of my art cabinet and asked Matt what I should draw. I don’t think, at the time, that he realized I can’t really draw and mostly planned on making a mess and probably ruining the carpet — but he answered anyway.
He told me to draw Molly.
So I did.
Molly would have said “Hi” but she was too busy searching for Cheerios and trying to fit the entire contents of her cage into her hidey hole.
