June 27th
Dear Beautiful Earth,
I woke up those morning and yesterday was still sharp in my mind, so I decided I was going back. I dressed in my most attractive, cleavage showing clothing and did my make-up in a unusually provocative way. I was going to impress the shit out of Cohen.
I woke up Emerson and Sterling and dressed them for their oh-so-annoying daycare and hurried them out to the car. Emerson fussed until I allowed him to sit in a "big boy seat" like Sterling, and Sterling fell asleep before I even pulled out of the driveway. I guess I should probably be more careful about getting them to bed on time. I just get distracted when Taryn is over.
After dropping them off I had the inconvenience of taking the car all the way back home. My mother wouldn't want me out with it all day, so I was going to have to take transit.
At about eleven-thirty I got on the A-47 bus and watched the city go by as I was taken on an express trip to Downtown. It took a total of about thirty five minutes, which was good because I was beginning to grow impatient and nervous at the whole thing. What if Cohen didn't want to me again. Did he even like me? I didn't know, and I guess I still don't even after today.
I hopped off the bus without paying the driver and walked over to the fountain, where I had met Cohen before.
Unmistakably, he was sitting in the same spot as I had seen him the day before. He glanced at me as I walked over to him smiling and sat down.
"Hi," I said.
He nodded in acknowledgment.
"You remember me right?"
"Yeah."
"So what's new."
"Nothing. Just trying to get some money together."
"Oh, cool. Maybe I can help."
"I doubt it."
I was shocked at his attitude towards me. This was the man I helped out the day before. I gave him a jacket, a cigarette, and even almost a place to stay. I looked at him in disbelief.
"Is something wrong?" I asked him.
"I have to tell you something before you take this little thing we've got going on too far," he replied.
"What?"
"I'm gay."
This, too, came as a shock to me. I didn't expect such an attractive homeless crack head to be a homosexual. He seemed so nice. Maybe I could help him come out of such a state but I knew my mother would never let me hang out with a homeless, cracked out, faggot. So I stood up and walked away quickly. I am surprisingly upset about the situation. I'm not ugly, there isn't really anything wrong with me, he just doesn't want me and I don't really understand why.
I was walking to the but stop for the A buses, holding back tears when I saw, thankfully, a kind soul. Cooper approached me with a smile on his face. I hugged him and buried my teary face in his chest.
"Oh, Eliora," He said sweetly. "What's the matter, sweetie?"
In extreme detail, I told him of Cohen and our two encounters. I could tell he was trying not to laugh, but he continued to effectively comfort me.
"Do I need to beat up a faggy crackhead today, Elie?" he asked me, only half seriously.
"That's okay, Cooper," I said. "But we should hang out. You should come over, or I should go to your place."
"My place is closer. And I think the A-32 is coming right now."
I glanced down the block and saw the bus approaching. I followed Cooper on to it and he paid my fare for me. It was only fifty cents, but I appreciated it none-the-less.
Cooper's house was about a bedroom smaller than mine. He had one little sister who just adored him, and parents who were amazingly still together. They never ceased to fight, but his house still had pretty good atmosphere.
I entered his room and sat on his bed, turning to look at his many Death and Black Metal posters. He also had a lot of powerpop posters, which were to ridiculous to be real, so I chose to ignore them.
He sat down next to me and smiled his perfect smile, brushing his gorgeous hair out of his face.
"It's good to have you over," he said. "I don't get a lot of company."
It was true. My friends were quite outcast in school, except celeste. It's quite a crime to dress in a lot of dark colors, or like a "scene kid" at my high school. Or perhaps we're just losers, because I always assumed I looked just like everyone else.
"It's good to be over," I replied. "I'm so glad I'm not alone right now. It's been quite a day."
"It's that guy seriously gay?" Cooper asked.
"I don't know. Maybe he made that up because I was coming on too strong or something. I mean he doesn't wear make-up, and he wasn't carrying a purse or anything."
"It that what gay is to you? Fashion?"
"Well yeah. It's not like they have to be gay or anything."
"If you say so."
"Why're you so touchy about this?"
I could read him like a book. He was hiding something. Was he gay too? That was the last thing I needed, the other half of my teenage affection because permanently unavailable. What he'd had a boyfriend? What he had dated that friend he made at camp last year, Rogan? I might be getting ahead of myself.
Cooper gave me a pained look.
"My dad," he said. "He's gay. That's why he and my mom are...not close anymore I guess."
"Your dad?!" I asked, in shock. I guess it wasn't really THAT shocking. His dad was always pretty effeminate and his parents didn't really like eachother at all.
"Yeah, my dad. And being gay isn't about purses and pink and tight jeans, it's about who you're attracted to, and who you connect with. I wish people in this stupid place understood that. "
Suddenly I felt like a jerk. I realized that Cooper had real feelings about this.
"I guess I'm more religious than I thought I was," I said, apologetically.
"Or maybe you were just raised by biggots," he replied.
That hurt. I'm not sure if I was imagining it, but I'm pretty sure the boy made a crack at my mother.
"That was low," I said. "I don't hate gay people. I was just raised in religion. I'm sorry if that offends you and your sinful father."
"My father isn't sinful," he replied. "It's not a sin to feel that way, only a sin to act upon it. Sodomy, lust. You name it."
"I'm really sorry. I had no idea."
Coopers stare burned my eyes. The intensity made it difficult for me to maintain eye contact but I didn't dare break the connection.
"I'm not ashamed of my father," he said softly. "And I never will be. He's just as important as everyone else."
"I know," I said. "I know."
Coopers piercing stare turned into a soft one. He smiled and I attempted to smile but it turned out kind of forced and twisted. But Coopers smile was solid and calming, as it always had been. His face grew closer and closer and our eyes contact slowly melted into a kiss. Something I had been waiting for for a very long time. The kiss lasted a beautiful three seconds and then slowly turned back into smiling stares. My entire body felt warm as his soft eyes moved from my face to my lips. We started kissing again, this time more passionately.
After ten minutes of kissing, Cooper slowly lowered my back into the bed and put some of his weight on top of me. It felt good, warm, comforting. These feelings, however, lasted only until he began unbuttoning my shirt.
"Cooper," I said softly. He didn't stop. "Cooper," I said more forcefully.
He halted and looked me in the eyes, but I couldn't return it.
"I'm sorry Cooper," I said. "I'm sorry."
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Part one of my soon to be award winning novel
And yes, I am choosing to write this as a blog.
So here is goes.
June 23rd
Dear beautiful earth,
Today my idiot of a mother decided to take me to a therapist. The woman's name is Mary. She isn't too bad, but I'd rather be at home watching television or sitting downtown by the fountain than spilling my oh-so-boring guts to some stranger. She suggested I start writing in this book so I can keep my thoughts together and reflect on them weekly with her. For all she knows this entire book could be a lie.
However, honesty is one of my strong points. I don't even lie to my parents. For example, this morning I decided (in utter stupidity) to ask my mother for ten dollars.
"Why?" She protested. "What could you possibly need that for?"
"Six for cigarettes, four for a burger," I replied.
"You're smoking again? You're sixteen! I thought we quit that?"
My mother thinks that just because she gave up her cancer sticks, I will too. What she doesn't understand is that I'd smoke just to avoid being like her. So quite frankly she should probably just get over it.
As angry as she got she still gave me the money. I have absolutely no idea why.
So I guess I should probably tell you about myself.
My name is Eliora Schmidt, and I smoke, drink, do a lot of hallucinogens, fight, swear, and blow off school. Despite this, I'm a good person at heart. Every Sunday my mother drags me to church and for two hours I "pray" which consists of my sitting with my head down, dosing off into some kind of dream. I'm some kind of religious though. I'm a virgin, I wear a purity ring, and I never lie or steal. So I think that makes me at least a relatively good person.
I have Medium length brown hair with blond highlights that's constantly in my face, and I primarily wear dark tight jeans and black low-cut tank tops. I have no individuality in the appearance whatsoever and that is fine with me.
I guess another thing you should know about me is I'm really good at expressing my feelings. When I'm sad I cry, when I'm angry I scream, when I'm happy I laugh, and when I'm nothing, I don't. I'm also very good about showing when I'm horny, but I guess that makes me a cock tease, doesn't it? You know, with the whole "purity" thing.
So the last thing worth knowing about me is that I like to spend time alone. All day people are bothering me. Whether it be my so-called friends, or my three and five year old brothers Emerson and Sterling. I usually get a total of two to three hours a day to myself and I take full advantage of them. I live for them.
So that's all the matters about me.
June 26th
Dear Beautiful Earth,
So I feel like today was supposed to be the start of some never ending soap opera. I was walking around downtown smoking a cigarette, clutching my purse to my side when a man called for my attention.
"Young lady!" He called. He wasn't old. He looked kind of destroyed by drugs though. His teeth were slightly darkened and his clothes and skin were quite dirty. Other than that he wasn't ugly at all. He looked about in his early to mid twenties. Politely I turned to give him my attention.
"I'm a little down on my luck," he said. "Can you spare a dollar?"
"Unfortunately," I said. "I'm a little low on cash. But you can have a cigarette."
He gladly accepted.
I sat and smoked with him as we engaged in conversation, but it was fairly cold outside for a June day and I was eager to get somewhere warm. This man, however, had no jacket.
He began to discuss his situation. He was sleeping under a bridge as of last month. He had been thrown out of his parents' house with no supplies or clothes. I felt horrible for him so I gave him one of my sweatshirts.
He thankfully accepted and began hugging me. This sparked even more conversation. He asked me if he could stay at my house, and quite honestly, I would have said yes, had he not spent half of the time I was with him trying to smoke crack off of a notebook. My mom would never let this man past our doorway, even just to clean up. And I knew I shouldn't have trusted him and wanted him company so badly but I kind of did. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to at home.
Eventually, evening came and I had to be on my way.
"It was great talking to you, sir," I said to him.
"Oh don't call me sir!" He ordered. "My name is Cohen."
I hugged Cohen goodbye and made my way home.
So it was a good day. I met a cool guy, spent some time away from my family, and still had time to do a load of laundry before I was stuck watching the kids, which was usually one of the worst times of the day.
"Elie!" Emerson yelled when he walked through the door with Sterling and my mother. They were finally home from day care, and my mom was going to take off for her night shift. I would have to put them to bed and drive them to day care the next day while my mom slept off her work.
"Hi Emerson," I said, faking sweetness. "How was day care?"
"Good! I made a picture out of spaghetti!"
"Macaroni," my mother corrected. I laughed a little bit.
My mother left the kids to play in the living room and went upstairs. I sat on the couch, partly ignoring them, partly watching for fights to break out.
"Elie," Sterling said. "Why doesn't mommy sleep at night instead of work?"
"Because," I said. "Her job gives her more money if she works at night, and you two are so damn expensive."
My mother is a doctor in the emergency room. She has the most morbid and disgusting job of anyone I know. The only time I ever visit her at work is if I need money or she won't pick up my calls at the front desk. It is a short drive from home, so it isn't that ridiculous.
I ruffled Sterling's hair and instructed him to go play, while I ran upstairs to check in with my mother.
She was in her hospital clothes, combing her hair. I always wondered why she did that because it would just be messed up in all of two hours.
"Do you need something?" She asked me, tying her hair into a dark brown ponytail.
"Not really," I replied. "I was just hoping I could have someone over for company tonight. Just one of my friends to stay the night."
"Who? No boys."
"No, mom, just Taryn."
"Taryn? Yeah, sure."
Taryn has been my best friend for about five years now. She's the most tolerable person in my life at the moment so it's great to have her over for babysitting.
She's a year younger than I am, just going to be a sophomore. She has jet black hair, medium length with silky side bangs, crystal blue eyes and a very dark look to her. She likes to wear black dress shirts with a lot of ruffles, and black skinny jeans.
Taryn and I have two other people who we primarily hang around with at school and in our free time. The funnest and the cutest of those two is Cooper. He's a handsome Junior with reddish blond hair, perfect facial structure, and a very tone body. He was, however, what most people described as a "scene kid". He wore tight skinny jeans, a plain thin red hoodie, hood constantly up, and glasses without the lenses. Taryn, me and our other friend Celeste are constantly fighting over who will get in his pants first, although I know that isn't going to be me, or probably any of us, anytime soon. Me and Cooper have something in common though; we're the only two in our group who still hold our V-card. Maybe that gives us some kind of special connection and he'll fall for me one of these days.
Anyway, Celeste is the typical gorgeous Junior. She has perfect blond hair and dresses in the most provocative ways that you could legally show up to school in. She has a perfect figure, green eyes, and is short but knows how to work heels. She wears on occasion leather pants and skirts and corsets. Sometimes I wonder how she could possibly be comfortable in all of those clothes.
So anyway, Taryn came over, which was nice, I liked having company when I was watching those demonic little boys. But what was even more nice was telling her about Cohen. I was as graphic as possible in the story but she didn't seem to react to it in the same way that I did.
"Elie, That's disgusting!" She said. "Just repulsive!"
"What are you talking about?" I replied. "How is that gross? He's an amazing guy."
"He's a bum you met on the street! Why can't you just stick to chasing after Cooper?"
I was appalled at her reaction. Maybe it was because she only had one year of high school under her belt. She was still younger than me. But somehow she was making herself look pretty wise.
"I think I'm in love with him," I said suddenly, in complete seriousness. All I received from Taryn was a shocked glare.
Awkward silence.
"What the fuck?!" She yelled, breaking it.
"Shhh!" I said, pointing to Emerson and Sterling. "Language filter!"
"Are you serious? You're in love with the crackhead you met on the street who was so fried he tried to smoke it off of a notebook? Like, you're joking, aren't you? How long have you known him for, twelve hours?"
"Don't judge me Taryn. You're my best friend."
She sighed loudly.
"Okay, okay," She muttered. "Let's just drop it. You do what's best for you."
I was satisfied with this response. Taryn is a good friend.
So here is goes.
June 23rd
Dear beautiful earth,
Today my idiot of a mother decided to take me to a therapist. The woman's name is Mary. She isn't too bad, but I'd rather be at home watching television or sitting downtown by the fountain than spilling my oh-so-boring guts to some stranger. She suggested I start writing in this book so I can keep my thoughts together and reflect on them weekly with her. For all she knows this entire book could be a lie.
However, honesty is one of my strong points. I don't even lie to my parents. For example, this morning I decided (in utter stupidity) to ask my mother for ten dollars.
"Why?" She protested. "What could you possibly need that for?"
"Six for cigarettes, four for a burger," I replied.
"You're smoking again? You're sixteen! I thought we quit that?"
My mother thinks that just because she gave up her cancer sticks, I will too. What she doesn't understand is that I'd smoke just to avoid being like her. So quite frankly she should probably just get over it.
As angry as she got she still gave me the money. I have absolutely no idea why.
So I guess I should probably tell you about myself.
My name is Eliora Schmidt, and I smoke, drink, do a lot of hallucinogens, fight, swear, and blow off school. Despite this, I'm a good person at heart. Every Sunday my mother drags me to church and for two hours I "pray" which consists of my sitting with my head down, dosing off into some kind of dream. I'm some kind of religious though. I'm a virgin, I wear a purity ring, and I never lie or steal. So I think that makes me at least a relatively good person.
I have Medium length brown hair with blond highlights that's constantly in my face, and I primarily wear dark tight jeans and black low-cut tank tops. I have no individuality in the appearance whatsoever and that is fine with me.
I guess another thing you should know about me is I'm really good at expressing my feelings. When I'm sad I cry, when I'm angry I scream, when I'm happy I laugh, and when I'm nothing, I don't. I'm also very good about showing when I'm horny, but I guess that makes me a cock tease, doesn't it? You know, with the whole "purity" thing.
So the last thing worth knowing about me is that I like to spend time alone. All day people are bothering me. Whether it be my so-called friends, or my three and five year old brothers Emerson and Sterling. I usually get a total of two to three hours a day to myself and I take full advantage of them. I live for them.
So that's all the matters about me.
June 26th
Dear Beautiful Earth,
So I feel like today was supposed to be the start of some never ending soap opera. I was walking around downtown smoking a cigarette, clutching my purse to my side when a man called for my attention.
"Young lady!" He called. He wasn't old. He looked kind of destroyed by drugs though. His teeth were slightly darkened and his clothes and skin were quite dirty. Other than that he wasn't ugly at all. He looked about in his early to mid twenties. Politely I turned to give him my attention.
"I'm a little down on my luck," he said. "Can you spare a dollar?"
"Unfortunately," I said. "I'm a little low on cash. But you can have a cigarette."
He gladly accepted.
I sat and smoked with him as we engaged in conversation, but it was fairly cold outside for a June day and I was eager to get somewhere warm. This man, however, had no jacket.
He began to discuss his situation. He was sleeping under a bridge as of last month. He had been thrown out of his parents' house with no supplies or clothes. I felt horrible for him so I gave him one of my sweatshirts.
He thankfully accepted and began hugging me. This sparked even more conversation. He asked me if he could stay at my house, and quite honestly, I would have said yes, had he not spent half of the time I was with him trying to smoke crack off of a notebook. My mom would never let this man past our doorway, even just to clean up. And I knew I shouldn't have trusted him and wanted him company so badly but I kind of did. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to at home.
Eventually, evening came and I had to be on my way.
"It was great talking to you, sir," I said to him.
"Oh don't call me sir!" He ordered. "My name is Cohen."
I hugged Cohen goodbye and made my way home.
So it was a good day. I met a cool guy, spent some time away from my family, and still had time to do a load of laundry before I was stuck watching the kids, which was usually one of the worst times of the day.
"Elie!" Emerson yelled when he walked through the door with Sterling and my mother. They were finally home from day care, and my mom was going to take off for her night shift. I would have to put them to bed and drive them to day care the next day while my mom slept off her work.
"Hi Emerson," I said, faking sweetness. "How was day care?"
"Good! I made a picture out of spaghetti!"
"Macaroni," my mother corrected. I laughed a little bit.
My mother left the kids to play in the living room and went upstairs. I sat on the couch, partly ignoring them, partly watching for fights to break out.
"Elie," Sterling said. "Why doesn't mommy sleep at night instead of work?"
"Because," I said. "Her job gives her more money if she works at night, and you two are so damn expensive."
My mother is a doctor in the emergency room. She has the most morbid and disgusting job of anyone I know. The only time I ever visit her at work is if I need money or she won't pick up my calls at the front desk. It is a short drive from home, so it isn't that ridiculous.
I ruffled Sterling's hair and instructed him to go play, while I ran upstairs to check in with my mother.
She was in her hospital clothes, combing her hair. I always wondered why she did that because it would just be messed up in all of two hours.
"Do you need something?" She asked me, tying her hair into a dark brown ponytail.
"Not really," I replied. "I was just hoping I could have someone over for company tonight. Just one of my friends to stay the night."
"Who? No boys."
"No, mom, just Taryn."
"Taryn? Yeah, sure."
Taryn has been my best friend for about five years now. She's the most tolerable person in my life at the moment so it's great to have her over for babysitting.
She's a year younger than I am, just going to be a sophomore. She has jet black hair, medium length with silky side bangs, crystal blue eyes and a very dark look to her. She likes to wear black dress shirts with a lot of ruffles, and black skinny jeans.
Taryn and I have two other people who we primarily hang around with at school and in our free time. The funnest and the cutest of those two is Cooper. He's a handsome Junior with reddish blond hair, perfect facial structure, and a very tone body. He was, however, what most people described as a "scene kid". He wore tight skinny jeans, a plain thin red hoodie, hood constantly up, and glasses without the lenses. Taryn, me and our other friend Celeste are constantly fighting over who will get in his pants first, although I know that isn't going to be me, or probably any of us, anytime soon. Me and Cooper have something in common though; we're the only two in our group who still hold our V-card. Maybe that gives us some kind of special connection and he'll fall for me one of these days.
Anyway, Celeste is the typical gorgeous Junior. She has perfect blond hair and dresses in the most provocative ways that you could legally show up to school in. She has a perfect figure, green eyes, and is short but knows how to work heels. She wears on occasion leather pants and skirts and corsets. Sometimes I wonder how she could possibly be comfortable in all of those clothes.
So anyway, Taryn came over, which was nice, I liked having company when I was watching those demonic little boys. But what was even more nice was telling her about Cohen. I was as graphic as possible in the story but she didn't seem to react to it in the same way that I did.
"Elie, That's disgusting!" She said. "Just repulsive!"
"What are you talking about?" I replied. "How is that gross? He's an amazing guy."
"He's a bum you met on the street! Why can't you just stick to chasing after Cooper?"
I was appalled at her reaction. Maybe it was because she only had one year of high school under her belt. She was still younger than me. But somehow she was making herself look pretty wise.
"I think I'm in love with him," I said suddenly, in complete seriousness. All I received from Taryn was a shocked glare.
Awkward silence.
"What the fuck?!" She yelled, breaking it.
"Shhh!" I said, pointing to Emerson and Sterling. "Language filter!"
"Are you serious? You're in love with the crackhead you met on the street who was so fried he tried to smoke it off of a notebook? Like, you're joking, aren't you? How long have you known him for, twelve hours?"
"Don't judge me Taryn. You're my best friend."
She sighed loudly.
"Okay, okay," She muttered. "Let's just drop it. You do what's best for you."
I was satisfied with this response. Taryn is a good friend.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Another One
So I feel like I've lost another good soul in my life. Whether it be fault of their ignorance or they're poor decision.
Drugs are not for little kids. They shouldn't be for anybody. I'm not talking about little drugs like the occasion weed, alcohol, ecstasy....I'm talking about when you see fourteen year old junkies shooting up heroin behind a trash can, when sixteen year old kids come around with blood pooring off of their faces, completely coked out. When seventeen year olds break into houses to smoke crack. When fifteen year old girls sell themselves to their meth addicted boyfriends.
They lose their ability to love, to learn, to respect, to appreciate, to care. The only thing left if their lives are drugs. Drugs do nothing but steal from you. They steal your money, your feelings, your job, your family, you youth, your body, your entire life. And for what?
You will have no ability to make educated choices, you will look disgusting, you will have to resort to things you'd never consider thinking about before, so you can have money and eventually drugs.
So why do people swear themselves against it, and them make friends deep into the scene? Why do they watch their best friends disappear right before their eyes, watch them escorted to prison, to rehab, and back again, in an endless cycle.
Sobriety is something that is so rarely valued in people my age, and although I appreciate the occasional altered consciousness I will never resort to anything that didn't come directly from the ground. I can not stress enough how disgusting and horrible man made drugs are, as they deteriorate your skin and triple your aging process, as they devour your brain and melt you the point of stupidity. And then when you have nothing left you either stop or you die, and you're never the same again. You constantly fight against your drug addicted person and it changes you.
Who in their right mind would want to start that?
And addiction isn't the only reason not to do drugs all the time. Drugs are irresponsible, as teenagers we have things we're supposed to be learning to succeed in life, and priorities and controlling ourselves is part of that. If you're constantly drugged up you can't keep up your responsibilities in any way shape or form. You constantly get in trouble and you slowly lose what makes you you.
So, yeah, a few hours of a good time is nice, but it has a tendency to go WAY TO FAR with people and I'm fucking sick of it. Fuck these pot smoking thizz popping kids.
FUCK.
Drugs are not for little kids. They shouldn't be for anybody. I'm not talking about little drugs like the occasion weed, alcohol, ecstasy....I'm talking about when you see fourteen year old junkies shooting up heroin behind a trash can, when sixteen year old kids come around with blood pooring off of their faces, completely coked out. When seventeen year olds break into houses to smoke crack. When fifteen year old girls sell themselves to their meth addicted boyfriends.
They lose their ability to love, to learn, to respect, to appreciate, to care. The only thing left if their lives are drugs. Drugs do nothing but steal from you. They steal your money, your feelings, your job, your family, you youth, your body, your entire life. And for what?
You will have no ability to make educated choices, you will look disgusting, you will have to resort to things you'd never consider thinking about before, so you can have money and eventually drugs.
So why do people swear themselves against it, and them make friends deep into the scene? Why do they watch their best friends disappear right before their eyes, watch them escorted to prison, to rehab, and back again, in an endless cycle.
Sobriety is something that is so rarely valued in people my age, and although I appreciate the occasional altered consciousness I will never resort to anything that didn't come directly from the ground. I can not stress enough how disgusting and horrible man made drugs are, as they deteriorate your skin and triple your aging process, as they devour your brain and melt you the point of stupidity. And then when you have nothing left you either stop or you die, and you're never the same again. You constantly fight against your drug addicted person and it changes you.
Who in their right mind would want to start that?
And addiction isn't the only reason not to do drugs all the time. Drugs are irresponsible, as teenagers we have things we're supposed to be learning to succeed in life, and priorities and controlling ourselves is part of that. If you're constantly drugged up you can't keep up your responsibilities in any way shape or form. You constantly get in trouble and you slowly lose what makes you you.
So, yeah, a few hours of a good time is nice, but it has a tendency to go WAY TO FAR with people and I'm fucking sick of it. Fuck these pot smoking thizz popping kids.
FUCK.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
What it Means
People have such warped and stupid ideas of what is open minded and what isn't.
I'm closed minded because I don't believe that when I get a job my money should be taken and given to people who don't work or give anything back to the community. I'm closed minded because I think that socialism is a horrible idea, because it would suppress the arts and skill in our society, and stifle the satisfaction of working for what you've got, rather than having mediocre things handed out to everyone, no matter how well they do in the work place.
I'm open minded because I think that if someone was born the wrong sex, every step to make them more comfortable in their own skin should be taken without hesitation.
I'm open minded because I think people should be able to marry who ever they want.
So, according to popular belief, any consevative outlook is closed minded, and any liberal outlook is openminded. Being religious makes you close minded, because of the stereotype that loving god means hating everyone else. However, there are very many god loving people who are open to accepting everyone, and who believe that god loves transgendered people, straight people, men, woman, children, intersex people, gay people, etc. equally. A good example of this are diests. Diests USUALLY don't believe that fornicating, masturbating, or marrying a member of the same sex will condemn you to the fiery pits of hell. Diests believe that god created the world (whether it started with humans or just tiny microscopic things is contraversial), then kicked back in a comfy arm chair and watched it unfold in to what it is today. This means he isn't up in some kingdom in the sky, making a list, checking it twice and deciding who's rotting in hell.
I believe in god. It's probable that some day I will stop saying I do. I do not think god is perfect. I do not think he's never made a mistake. Perhaps transgender, homosexuality, serial killers, rapists, etc. are the fault of god, if they are in fact a fault at all.
Homosexuality and transsexuality/transgender has been proven to be found in nature all the time. This means that it has nothing to do with environment, how one was raised, or who their parents are. It is merely the way they were born and the way they will always be.
So, I haven't quite decided if I should consider myself close minded and be proud, or consider myself open minded and be proud. Neither of these titles should exist. I am entitled to all of my opinions as long as I continue to love and respect others regardless of theirs. I am accept and rejected by a lot of people in the world, and I've come to the conclusion that I don't, and never will need those people in my life. I might be the world's only half-black gay teenage republican musician, but I am 100% in love with that title that I carry.
I'm closed minded because I don't believe that when I get a job my money should be taken and given to people who don't work or give anything back to the community. I'm closed minded because I think that socialism is a horrible idea, because it would suppress the arts and skill in our society, and stifle the satisfaction of working for what you've got, rather than having mediocre things handed out to everyone, no matter how well they do in the work place.
I'm open minded because I think that if someone was born the wrong sex, every step to make them more comfortable in their own skin should be taken without hesitation.
I'm open minded because I think people should be able to marry who ever they want.
So, according to popular belief, any consevative outlook is closed minded, and any liberal outlook is openminded. Being religious makes you close minded, because of the stereotype that loving god means hating everyone else. However, there are very many god loving people who are open to accepting everyone, and who believe that god loves transgendered people, straight people, men, woman, children, intersex people, gay people, etc. equally. A good example of this are diests. Diests USUALLY don't believe that fornicating, masturbating, or marrying a member of the same sex will condemn you to the fiery pits of hell. Diests believe that god created the world (whether it started with humans or just tiny microscopic things is contraversial), then kicked back in a comfy arm chair and watched it unfold in to what it is today. This means he isn't up in some kingdom in the sky, making a list, checking it twice and deciding who's rotting in hell.
I believe in god. It's probable that some day I will stop saying I do. I do not think god is perfect. I do not think he's never made a mistake. Perhaps transgender, homosexuality, serial killers, rapists, etc. are the fault of god, if they are in fact a fault at all.
Homosexuality and transsexuality/transgender has been proven to be found in nature all the time. This means that it has nothing to do with environment, how one was raised, or who their parents are. It is merely the way they were born and the way they will always be.
So, I haven't quite decided if I should consider myself close minded and be proud, or consider myself open minded and be proud. Neither of these titles should exist. I am entitled to all of my opinions as long as I continue to love and respect others regardless of theirs. I am accept and rejected by a lot of people in the world, and I've come to the conclusion that I don't, and never will need those people in my life. I might be the world's only half-black gay teenage republican musician, but I am 100% in love with that title that I carry.
Stolen
So, I think it might be possible to get so angry that it's funny.
Like, you finish all of the screaming and the punching of the walls. Then the tears come. Then all of a sudden you start cracking up, and you realize how ridiculous you probably looked to spectators. How much the mosquito flying by you probably laughed when he got home to his nest.
But anger isn't something that just slips away unnoticed anyhow.
However, anger that comes for silly reasons is always completely and utterly hilarious. Like the people who get angry over things that are just part of everyday life, and they complain about things that neither them or anyone around them can control.
But that wasn't the point of this post.
The point of this was to say that when I laugh at my own expense I feel like my right to be angry has been stolen from me. Although, anger is an emotion I perfer to constantly feel, I'd still like to have it when it's owed to me. But when I start laughing at my anger I might as well wave goodbye to it, you know?
This could be looked at as a good thing though. Because when I'm angry I lose my ability to see two sides of a story, and all I care about is how stupid and fucked up and malicious the world is. I kandi stomp around my room and kick everything that gets in my way. Then I bitch out anyone who comes at me with anything nice to say using pointless unrelated ammunition I'd pulled from the sky.
So basically, anger doesn't do anything good for me, but I still want it.
Why?
Maybe I'm just stupid. Maybe I'm just crazy. Or maybe I'm both of those things.
Like, you finish all of the screaming and the punching of the walls. Then the tears come. Then all of a sudden you start cracking up, and you realize how ridiculous you probably looked to spectators. How much the mosquito flying by you probably laughed when he got home to his nest.
But anger isn't something that just slips away unnoticed anyhow.
However, anger that comes for silly reasons is always completely and utterly hilarious. Like the people who get angry over things that are just part of everyday life, and they complain about things that neither them or anyone around them can control.
But that wasn't the point of this post.
The point of this was to say that when I laugh at my own expense I feel like my right to be angry has been stolen from me. Although, anger is an emotion I perfer to constantly feel, I'd still like to have it when it's owed to me. But when I start laughing at my anger I might as well wave goodbye to it, you know?
This could be looked at as a good thing though. Because when I'm angry I lose my ability to see two sides of a story, and all I care about is how stupid and fucked up and malicious the world is. I kandi stomp around my room and kick everything that gets in my way. Then I bitch out anyone who comes at me with anything nice to say using pointless unrelated ammunition I'd pulled from the sky.
So basically, anger doesn't do anything good for me, but I still want it.
Why?
Maybe I'm just stupid. Maybe I'm just crazy. Or maybe I'm both of those things.
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