I don’t know how long I plan on leaving this fucking post up before I decide to destroy it. But I need to write it to get it out of my head.

I fucking hate myself. That’s okay. I’m used to it. My whole life, from the day I can remember words… words made me feel like shit. And any memories that I have that include words make me hate myself.

The memories that I have that don’t have words, but have images, and feelings… they’re the ones that make me happy. Maybe because I can delude myself into believing they’re nice memories. Because memories are fallible. They are subject to the change based on the emotional attachment we have with the word, with the event, with the sensation, with the experience…

Without words, we’d be FUCKING AWESOME. But we’d be dumb and dependent and incapable of creativity and growth and expansion. Words are important. That’s why they’re the vehicles of the gods. To spread and disseminate knowledge through the communities, through communication.

I do;t care if I hate myself, because I know it is transitory. I know how to cheer myself up. And that usually means I have to be away from people.

I like to listen to music. I like to sing along to songs I like and songs that articulate how I *feel*.

I like to look at hot messes of people because they make me feel better about being me. That maybe if I didn’t look like a mess, then I could pretend to not be one.

I like to watch shit, read shit, just… consume art and media. Until I feel better again. And when I feel better I don’t need anything anymore… I just need to feel connected. To people. I used to feel connected to my physical family.. but I see… I just fuck them up with my fucking narcissism. And… I have to find balance… between how much time I spend online and how much time I spend in the “real world”

Because I’m back at work every single day this week. And when I get home I just want to write. But I can’t write, because I’ve got responsibilities to take care of.

And then again, I am forced to choose between taking care of myself and taking care of others. SO I choose to take care of me, because when I break, shit just domino effect falls down with me. It’s a lot of pressure. But when my family WHO USED TO (OR I THOUGHT THEY DID) BE OKAY WITH THIS SHIT… and then suddenly… I’m reminded of what I shit person I am at my job… I’m the worst fucking english teacher. Because of a bunch of different reasons. I’m the worst fucking educator. I’m the worst mother. I’m the worst lover… BECAUSE I AM SELFISH. and stuff..

Ah shit. See? When I think about me.. or talk about myself too long… I fucking hate myself. Thats why I love other people. I love listening to their stories, their songs, reading their poems, and just… interacting with other people. because then I don’t feel alone. and if they’ve got shit, i’ve got shit too! we can cry and wallow in our shit together!

If they don’t have shit, I want to not have shit too! Teach me to get rid of my shit!

If they have so much shit, off load it on to me, I want to help them feel better.

Because through all the fucking shit, the shit nuggets, lol, I can’t transmutate that shit into a gold nugget. the real alchemy of the philosophers of old. i’ll give you your own personal philosophers stone.

but it is a metaphor. not a real actual thingy thing you can hold and shit. unless it’s a piece of paper with words on it, or your phone or on a screeen. it’s just shit that i say, because I want people to be happy.

and thats my own personal philosophy, my personal religion. my personal brand of bulllshit magic or education or proverb or whatever the fuck. my spin doctoring spinning twirling shit.

because whether its real or not, so long as it doesn’t hurt anyone, does it fucking matter? and so long as you know how to find that truth for yourself, because… i talk to people.. i share everything with others… i just give and share and i don’t know how to stop talking… it’s one of my very many weaknesses… i don;t know when to shut the fuck up until someone tells me to and changes the subject for me… or i follow my own swirly whirly train of thought to random butt fuck wherever….

as long as you know how I got to that conclusion, you can find the way yourself again.

and with practice, youll always be able to own your own shit.

so i am shit. i am full of shit.and me talking to others helps me get it out of myself. SO YES I AM SHIT. BUT I WISH MY FAMILY DIDN’T THINK THAT’S ALL I AM. because… I spin shit into other shit… words.. symbols… ideas… materials… whatever. i like to metaphorically SMOOSH THE FUCKING UNSMOOSHABLE together. things that have no reason to be connected should be connected because it’s funny.





Who wants to join my cult?

it’s got nothing there yet. but it’s my fucking cult i’m starting because why can’t I be the messiah? It’s fucking fun. and funny. And I believe I’m the messiah. but not in a schizophrenic dis-associative way… I’m the messiah because I’m out to kill god and it’s the only name I new to fucking describe it. so why the fuck not.


oh yeah. i posted a clip of me singing a part of a song on insta gram. see? thats the kind of shit that helps me feel better. escaping into other peoples words. into their own personal worlds. feeling the godlike abilities of others and imagining i could be like them if i said the right things… did the right ritual… looked or sounded the right way… some shit… fitting into other people’s bullshit boxes.

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