Category Archives: blather

Pandemic Thoughts

All my life I’ve heard all sorts of people say some variation of “There’s only two types of people..” and then they go on to somehow divvy all of humanity into one of a mere two types. I had a version of it, myself: There’s two types of people: People who think there are two types of people, and people who don’t.

But damn it all, it turns out that shit is true. There truly are only two types of people, and the pandemic has made what these two types are, glaringly clear:

There are people who care about other people and the world around them. And then there are selfish, stupid* assholes.

That’s it. There are your two groups. They’re super-easy to identify. One group social distances and wears a mask. The other bellows about their civil rights or says that masks are killing people and threatens citizens arrests at town halls and arms themselves to threaten a governor, and some of the women – the ones whose hair is about three decades past due – are very vocal that YOUR GRANDMA’S LIFE, YOUR CHILD’S LIFE, YOUR SPOUSE’S LIFE, YOUR OWN LIFE is less important than their ugly-ass haircut which, face it, Karen, your hairstylist is taking your money and shaking her damn head. You can’t make soulless attractive. Nor can you do a damn thing to improve those horrific brassy-ass highlights that match your sun-damaged .001% melanin over-“tanned” skin. If anything, pandemic or not, staying INSIDE might do you some good. What are you, HUMAN BEEF JERKY?

Anyway. There are ways to keep the economy going and the country going AND still keep us safe and get this thing under control. Sadly, however, President Kill Us All and the We Own Stock in HydroxyChloroquine Gang don’t give a fuck about any of us. If you are still laboring under some piteous delusion that they’ve got your best interests at heart, that they are not lying through their teeth to you, I’m so sorry that no one ever treated you for the Traumatic Brain Injury you so obviously have at some point suffered.

I mean, my far-right-leaning, Antifa and Socialist fearing, FOX NEWS watching schizophrenic friend finally gets it. If YOU don’t? If you don’t, I’m honestly curious as to what you believe is happening here. If you believe there are so far 152K crisis actors, or if this is a “hoax”, or if “masks kill”, or one of your civil rights is somehow being violated by being asked to wear a mask in the interest of public health.

The last one is the most interesting to me. Because I really want to know, exactly WHICH civil right is it that is being violated? The right to get deathly ill by a pandemic uncontrolled by your incompetent leader? Perhaps the right to show your entire face in public (the little bits of spittle that fly out of people’s mouths when they’re screaming unfounded opinions – this isn’t well-known – really go far in backing up their logic. About 18 feet or something.). But I don’t recall a right to show your face in public. I think maybe a few people would actually have taken umbrage with that one. You know, a few miscreants that don’t want to see the the Bailey Twins faces’ in public, on account of they reside on the same set of shoulders, or okay, maybe it doesn’t even have to be a conjoined twin thing, some people are straight-up dicks about other people’s looks. So even if someone didn’t fervently believe in the cause, I think they would have stood up against it just to fuck with some person they didn’t like, take that public opportunity to call them ugly in front of everyone as if it were Important Civil Rights Business.

Also. How come the non-mask-wearers don’t find their Civil Rights violated by the eradication of the Clean Water Act? Don’t they have, like, a right to drink clean water? It is kind of funny that their support for this unprecedented dereliction of duty (not to mention cleaning out of the coffers) began with a fear of brown people, yet these are people who have absolutely no fear at all of drinking brown water.

Brain-eating amoebas. And chemicals that no existing filter can ever remove, that were not there before, that we have no idea what the long-term effects will be. How very thirst-quenching. And so cool that we are made up mostly of the stuff, too, right? Don’t you want your body to be made of chemical waste?

Sure, why not. You don’t mind if it’s a super shuttle for a coronavirus.

If everyone would wear a mask, we could have the pandemic under control in 2 to 4 weeks. That was last week. It will probably take longer now. Still. Consider that. Then consider where we are right now. A hurricane is heading toward Miami-Dade, one of Florida’s worst hit areas. Ever been hugged up in a hurricane shelter? Add a pandemic. How pretty is the picture you see?

I’m meandering. I know it. This isn’t a proper essay. I don’t give a fuck.

I can’t understand what is wrong with people. WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE? Are they truly without souls? Are they simply NPCs walking around – oh, this one with the ugly 80s hair holding the sign that says SACRIFICE THE WEAK, every time you go by this particular tree, she’s there, sometimes she will yell at passersby, because that’s how she’s coded. She’s coded to be gross, to add conflict to the game. Right?

Because these can’t be real people. Because if they are, these are people who are saying that other human beings do not matter, but will tell any one of their friends or family quite sincerely and earnestly, “I’m a good person.” And they will believe it. And then they will put on a red hat and laugh at so-called jokes containing only vulgarity and hatred, and they will rail against “The Other Side”, and their faces will twist up into phastasmagoric Mummenschanz masks of vitriol that turn out to be their real faces, and it is then that you realize, no, of course they don’t want to wear a mask, they wear one every day, when they pretend to be one of us, when they pretend to be human.

*It doesn’t matter how many degrees you hold, how often the collective membership of Mensa gathers to blow you, how quickly you solve a Rubik’s cube. If you’re not wearing a mask, you don’t listen to scientists, which makes you a bonafide imbecile. Please don’t ever use anything plastic. A scientist came up with it. No medication ever for you for anything. A scientist made that, and they’re full of shit, right? Oh, and no fast food – there are FOOD SCIENTISTS, too, bitch, and they make a lot of the flavors you enjoy in a lab in New Jersey. Don’t forget COMPUTER SCIENCE. The porn you love is made of pixels that are made of numbers that used algorithms and that is so very sciencey, your Second Amendment Rights could just FALL OFF OF YOU RIGHT NOW HURRY RUN!!!

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It’s Like Sands Thru An Hourglass, Bitch!

I just finished listening to Godzilla by The Creatures. It was a breath of fresh air. What great drums. Then, I found out it was released twelve years ago. This was right before Pre-World’s end. Pre-World is a sobriquetic way of referring to my psychotic break. This reality now is, of course, Post-World, but I don’t want to call it that, cause that sounds kinda final. Anyway. Twelve years ago, right? Twelve damn years old.

Suddenly I heard in that song the lost potential, the lost energy, the lost cockiness. I heard my lost youth.

And I’m sitting here crying as I’m typing this. And as I’m snuffling because I’m too ass-glued to this chair to get a tissue, I realize, wait, WHY AM I BITCHING?

“The lost potential..”

To what? To take a life path where you never got to meet the Best Person Ever? To take a life path where you never got to be as awake as you are now?

“The lost energy, the lost this, the lost that…”

1. Put your shit up and you won’t lose it.

2. Make one of those flyers with the little strips you can tear off that have your phone number on them and post them around town with a recent picture of the energy.

3. You heard your lost youth? Was it howling like a lonely dog while standing on a moor under a dark grey sky?

4. Quit yer bitchin’ and do stuff.

Be grateful, girl. Be grateful for every last drop of whatever the fuck you get. The past has passed, that’s why they call it the past. Or something. Whatever. It sounds really, really good when you’re high. Anyway. Fuck the past. What has it done for you lately?

And cripes, enjoy the fucking song, they didn’t write it to make you cry. It’s about Godzilla, for fuck’s sake.

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Why Even

i have so much to say, and so little confidence that it matters that I say it, that I am paralyzed in front of this keyboard.

It doesn’t matter what I’ve experienced. It doesn’t matter what I think of it. It doesn’t matter what I think of anything at all.

It’s a fool’s errand to even keep this blog.

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BooHooWho

This is the only place where I feel the power of having a voice. The blank page listens to me. It gives me its full attention. I feel heard.

It would be unfair of me – as well as a cognitive distortion  – to say “no one ever listens to me”. But I’m going to be upfront: this is the first thing that pops into my head when someone I want to hear me, doesn’t. My immediate emotional reaction to a present instance of not being heard, that frustration – and on a much deeper level, hurt, because not being listened to is being rejected – colors my perception of the event, and it is added to a long narrative of other such events which resemble it in any way, no matter how small. The only thing needed to set off the telling of this particular Tale of Injustice Against Me is a little tap on that button there, which got hit when this not-getting-listened-to business bounced in unexpectedly.

So there in my brain is this entire unfolded saga and every stab of the knife of the central emotions is happening at once, it’s on however many flickering movie screens in that space in my consciousness that’s so close to the world it almost feels outside of me, each screen supercharged with fermented, risen-from-the-dead painful emotion. And all those rotting zombie emotions get together and form a groaning horde, focused on only one end: To eat my brain.

Because now everything I see is colored by this fucked-up perception, so I am not seeing clearly, and if I’m not seeing clearly, I’m not thinking clearly. Not only has the current event been distorted, it’s been tossed into a pit with however many other events where it will endlessly reanimate when new, fresh meat is thrown onto the pile. And rest assured, it will be – because the bigger the pile, the more I’m going to see this negative theme in every interaction. I’ll actually ignore the good things to look for it.

That is, unless I can recognize that this happens. Recognize the distortion, the generalizations of “never”, of “always”… These words are usually good indicators that maybe I need to take a look at the evidence. And if I look at what is real, and not just what I perceive in my moment of pique, I find that actually, quite a few people have listened to me. There have been many people who have, in fact, heard me. So while the zombie horde of emotional baggage wants to pull me into the Victim Dimension, I know that I do not belong there.

And because I can free myself from this vortex of the Woe Is Me Narrative my brain is for all its might attempting to suck me into, I am able to figure out that actually, in this particular instance, it’s just that the people I want to hear me, aren’t. There could be any number of reasons for that. Some of those reasons may have nothing at all to do with me. And just because they don’t hear me now, doesn’t mean they never will. This may be a situation that can be remedied. It may even be an opportunity to learn something – if only how not to get triggered when Life hits one of your sore spots.

Of course, this is all well and good when you’re able to think things through. That doesn’t always happen though, does it?

Coming soon: The Trigger Plan…

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Hey, Andy Lassner…

…I fail to see how tweeting YET AGAIN the SAME “and that was their final command” Orwell quote does more to help anyone than retweeting the question I have about whether painting respirators could be used by the doctors currently out of N65 masks so that this idea might POSSIBLY get in front of them and either be ruled out or MAYBE even HELP THEM…

I usually don’t call people names, but you, sir, are a prick.

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Training wheels are wobbly, but they work, and I’m pedaling to a place I’ve not been in a long, long time. Nothing I’m doing right now is anywhere near perfect – and it doesn’t have to be.

It’s a beautiful day.

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Facts Don’t Care About Your Fat

The party’s long over. It’s a closed subject. And I’m still thinking about it.

I realize how ridiculous bringing this up now is. People don’t even care about what happened last week. Or yesterday. I know – this was millenia ago. But, I’m sorry, I have to say it, because I need to stop thinking about it. See, the whole idea is to get it out of my brain — by putting it into yours. It’s the story of how little blogs are made. But anyway, it must be addressed and purged.

I’m talking about the fucking White House Correspondents Dinner with Michelle Wolf.  (See, I told you –  it’s ridiculous. But also, you’re already reading the post. So who’s really to blame here, hmm?)

HEAR YE, HEAR YE! THE NATION NEEDS A MIRACLE EAR!

I AM SHOUTING BECAUSE NONE OF US HEAR VERY WELL!!

Michelle Wolf said the word “facts” – but everyone INITIALLY thought she said “fat”. As in, “Sarah Sanders burns fat and uses the ash to make the perfect smokey eye.”

NO. The ACTUAL joke was: “Sarah Sanders burns FACTS and uses the ash to make the perfect smokey eye.”

People went on and on about how horrible it was for Michelle to insult Sarah Sanders’ appearance. But she did nothing of the sort. Everyone else did.

They all HEARD “fat” because they THINK “fat”. “Fat” doesn’t even work for the joke. Burning fat until it is ash isn’t some popular or common activity we all engage in, we consider burning fat to result in something else altogether (there’s a multi-billion dollar industry built around that cultural definition, even) and that F-A-C-T alone blows the “fat joke” theory all to Hell. Michelle Wolf was actually paying Sarah a compliment on her appearance, I mean, backhandedly, but she wasn’t calling her unattractive, or even suggesting that the smokey eye look is passe (cough) or awkwardly applied. The “Perfect Smokey Eye”. If someone said I had the perfect smokey eye, it would not hurt my feelings, unless maybe I wasn’t wearing eye makeup.

Michelle Wolf, Sneaker Aficionado

Michelle Wolf also pointed out that Sarah Sanders was a liar. (ETA: This is what you call a truth-based joke. Sarah Sanders is verifiably a lying liar with lying fire pants.) No one mentioned that part. Which kinda seems like the IMPORTANT part. Don’t know about you, but I would be a little more insulted to be called a liar than an expert at applying my eye shadow.

The point is, the whole outrage over it was nonsense, a bunch of cartoon hens cluckity-clucking their faux shock between commercials for A Place For Mom and Have You Had a Slip & Fall? Attorneys are Standing By! (Spokesperson is not an attorney)

I feel like a burden has been lifted. The truth is FINALLY out there.

See you at the next useless post!

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