Disclaimer(?): I'm not trying to sounds vain here, but this is what I've experienced from having "above 'average' intelligence" in school and the education system. Long story short, it fucks you up, or it just fucks me up, we'll see.
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So, it's pretty common knowledge now that schools and school systems test the shit out of children every year to find out who's 'gifted and talented (GT)', to find out who has the ability for more abstract thinking than their peers, so they can put them in classes to challenge and strengthen this type of thinking. This is relatively easy to do because there are a metric shit-ton of other tests going on generally if you tell a kid they have to take a test, they'll do what you ask.
Well, this is what it was like for me 15 years ago in elementary school when more parents told their kids to sit down and shut up, as opposed to now where it's always a compromise between parent and child. Also 15 years ago when it's not like children weren't respected and spoken to on their level by their teacher, but their teachers found ways to deal with them and it was closer to 1 in 15 being on Ritalin, or something else for ADD, as opposed to 1 in 5.
This isn't about that, this is about being an 'advanced thinker' and having people acknowledge that you're not 'average.'
Yes, as a kid I was proud to learn that I was 'intelligent' enough to be put into a special class for people who understood in second grade why triangles and domes are stronger than straight lines; in a class where in fourth grade I decided to use 'queer' by it's proper dictionary definition. Only odd thing about use of 'queer' is other people in my class laughing so it showed a part of my out-of-the-loop-ness that happens every now and again because I'd only ever known queer to mean something was strange or odd and not an insult to homosexual people.
But I digress. I'm saying from a young age, what...about 8 when I started in the 'advanced' classes in second grade, I was told I was different. I was told I was smarter than my peers. This information went straight to my head, giving me my inflated ego. I mean, who at the age of 8 wouldn't be all over the fact that they were 'better' than someone else? Also, to be honest, I enjoyed the GT course for a few reasons: it got me out of regular class once a week, what we did was interesting, and I was told I was better than other people. (Aside: maybe this started my superiority complex...) Third grade I went to a different elementary school where the entire class was GT, we were doing fourth grade work. Aspects of that year sucked, not the work so much as the school, not an encouraging environment so I went back to my original elementary school. I did get to raise chicks in my third grade class, an now I'm wondering what happened to the chickens and roosters. I don't know why I never did ask that question.
I went back to my primary elementary school for my last three years and went back to a 'pull out' GT program. In middle school I was in a GT program all day, every day, except this time it was called the IBMYP- the International Baccalaureate Middle Years Program. Upper level thinking, reading, writing all the time now. I've been taught MLA citation format ever since the seventh grade started. It also introduced me to who would be in most of my classes for the next six years. Seriously, my school system didn't lock down the IB program, in high school at least, but it was fairly contained. Many people took more than one IB class so it was fairly common on the first day of class to see about 1/3 of your first period class also in your second period class. I mean, my graduating class was something around 300-350 students. Of that number I think we had about 75 get the IB diploma, and another 100 or so get one or more IB certificates for the individual IB exams they passed.
Well, I've spent much of my time chronicling my education and what it was like, kind of. We all knew each other, would cheat off of each other and had been told we were special, smart for many years. We got to read multiple banned books over the years. Hell, I think at least one of my teachers tried for everything to be banned, and not just by religious groups, but by anyone. It made for interesting reading to say the least.
As I was saying earlier, sometimes being 'smart/er' sucked. I got tired of hearing "you're too smart to be failing" or "you're smart, so if you only applied yourself..." That shit never helps, it makes it worse because I'm already irritated that I wasn't passing, I don't need to be reminded that I'm failing, generally for stupid reasons. I said I was never good in a quiet environment, and my ability to focus is a bit worse when I'm in a quiet room because then I start making my own music for entertainment instead of drifting in and out of ignoring music that's playing while I do something. Hell, I've got music playing while I write this and I'm writing alright. I was never good at tests, in testing situation because it was always unnaturally quiet. It was a forced heavy silence, like an extended pregnant silence. Since it felt uncomfortable it distracted me more than noise might have.
Showing you were smart as a kid was just as bad as failing. I have been told 'You speak good English' many times. Every time I smile and say 'thank you' while inside I respond 'you don't.' Every time. I have been called articulate many times, my cousin told me I spoke like 'white people,' but he doesn't use proper grammar or pronunciation, I think he was trying to make fun of me, not to sure though. I was a reader as a kid, I still am. I actively seek out controversial, weird or interesting things to read. When I read comics I like something that questions or critiques our culture, same goes with novels and film. I also turn around and love and appreciate much lower brow humour. I enjoy The Shawshank Redemption just as much as I enjoy Tropic Thunder or The Fifth Element. Yes, Tropic Thunder does have more to it than the explosions and the silly, but that's what people see. I like explosions and boom! I like talking and critiquing, I like getting and understanding 'smart' things and enjoying 'not-smart (?)' things.
With what I've said I still haven't quite gotten to my point. The biggest flaw in being smart if knowing that you're smart. You want to be recognized as such when you succeed and when you don't you don't want people to think too hard about it because it's salt in the wound. There are things I've realized, things I know about myself from sitting and dwelling on it. I wonder, how many people sit down and think about when they stop thinking of themselves as a kid, and actually think of themselves as an adult? I'm not talking about turning 18 or 21 and saying 'I can smoke, drink, vote and die for my country; I'm an adult.' I'm talking about how many people can actually acknowledge and articulate, to some degree, why they think of themselves now as an adult. While talking with Alex this weekend we spoke about this for a minute which drunk, but we both have come to the point in our lives where we're looking less to our parents for guidance and we both want to strike out on our own and forge our own paths. In my mind stopping and attempting to put into words a gradual change like that is a very heady thing to do, thinking and dwelling and focusing.
Being smart, intelligent, gifted has been my life in the education system. No one is more annoying than I am with myself for bad grades. When I try to explain my career plans to my family I can hear the disappointment in their voices when I say I don't want to go into science anymore. That doesn't bring me down as much as it annoys me when I say I want to work for myself, drawing my own comics. They keep trying to dissuade me thinking it's childish precociousness and it's not. They think it's about money, I'll find the money, getting money's the easy part. Working the job, the career, I really want is the hard part.
Want to know another shitty part about being smart? I know why I'm depressed almost every time. Usually it's some sort of 'I don't feel loved' bullshit. Every now and again it's about my mom being dead. Knowing I'm not at a point to forgive my father for all of his bullshit, or any of it, I know I'm not ready and I know why. He won't listen, he won't try to listen. He thinks of me as a child, I'm not a child anymore. I don't think I'm a young adult anymore, I just am an adult. I think I'm finally moving out of categorization limbo, now everyone I know needs to learn this so they don't think of me as less then I am.
See, that thought process right there, I want to be respected on my level; I want to be taken seriously on my level. Not everyone is on my level. I think ultimately that's why I drifted away from people from high school. Not just that they knew the 'old' me, but that they weren't really looking to be Adults yet, they were looking to be Young Adults. I've gone back to speaking with some of them and it seems things are leveling back out, we're reaching our next maturity level.
Jasmine P.
June 15, 2010
May 23, 2010
Concepts of Beauty
My Grandmother keeps trying to get me to change what I like about myself. We're supposed to be going on a cruise this August around the Bahamas. When I spoke to her last week she told me what it was like on the boat, "you're going to forget you're on a boat, it's like being in a mall' or she'd tell me about the Governer's Ball which happens one night on the ship, and that I have to be dressed nicely for dinner. I'm like 'alright' and she continues asking me if I'm going to 'get my hair done' or wear earrings, or telling me I can't wear denims, she's old and doesn't usually say 'jeans' for whatever reason.
I try to listen, but when she asks me an honest question I decide I'm going to answer honestly:
-"Will you get my hair done in a beauty salon": no, I like my hair short and natural
-"well, will you go to a barber? How much does it cost?"; between $10-15, and no, my friend can cut my hair;
-"how do you know they can cut hair? What if you don't like it?": I'll cut it all off then let it grow back. Hair will grow back.
-"You're not going to wear a hat every day, your hair won't grow long if you wear a hat all the time.": I like my hats and I don't want my hair to grow long, Grandma.
-"Fine, you're going to wear earrings right?": No Grandma, they irritate my ears, I don't like 'em. As I kid I didn't like them.
"Well, you have to dress nice, you can't go out to eat wearing denims. When you go out with your friends you have to look nice so you can meet people."
You'd think I'd be dizzy from rolling my eyes so much. I finally get her to stop this ridiculous attempt at changing me by explaining I wear and present myself how I like. I don't like dresses or earrings so I don't wear them. I like my hats so I wear them. I have the commonsense to not go to a nice dinner in baggy messy jeans or cargos, but it's the same commonsense that keeps me from going to a messy art class in a really nice shirt. It's neither the time nor is it the place. No, I won't wear make-up, no I won't conform to society's conventions of beauty because I don't like them.
I am me, let me prove to you my life is fine, that I'm happy, when I'm not depressed - my appearance doesn't affect my depression, so I'm happy in how I look, how I dress and ow I carry myself. I have been told that things I have ae nice, that they look good, stop trying to compare me to my mother. Stop trying to compare me to other people, be happy that I'm happy.
I don't know. I could easily just say yes to everything she says I should do, but I wouldn't be happy. It's better to get this stupid non-important argument out of the way now instead of it being a stupid non-important argument in three months when sh sees me to wearing earrings, not wearing make-up, not wearing nail polish. I'll primp to my own tastes not hers. The thing is, like I said, I like how I dress, I like the clothes I wear, I don't want to 'work' that goes into being 'beautiful' and that shit all costs too much. Concealer, mascara, lipstick, blush, facial wash, zit cream, nail polish, nail polish remover, hair rollers, hair relaxant. If I had one of each of those things I'd've spent $100 easy. Why? To fit into what society considers to be beautiful. I want to buck trends and fuck convention.
It's like I questioned in this image http://dichigo.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d1kcwn9 a scribble from a few years ago, I want to go back to it again at some point, but why should I listen to the magazines, the voices outside. To hell with them, if I'm happy how I am, why do I have to listen to people out there who work so hard to change themselves and others to their own conventions and beauty, to what they think society would like. No, that's not me.
When I leave for that cruise I will have some nice shirts, I will have one or two skirts, I will also have sneakers, sandals, denim gouchos, one or two of my hats, either my FreakAngels or Israeli Paratrooper bag, at least one sketchbook, pens, pencils, two or three novels and my DS, plus other odds and ends. I'll have things to look nice in, to look nice with that I like, and I'll have the things I like that are comfortable. It's what I like
Jasmine P.
I try to listen, but when she asks me an honest question I decide I'm going to answer honestly:
-"Will you get my hair done in a beauty salon": no, I like my hair short and natural
-"well, will you go to a barber? How much does it cost?"; between $10-15, and no, my friend can cut my hair;
-"how do you know they can cut hair? What if you don't like it?": I'll cut it all off then let it grow back. Hair will grow back.
-"You're not going to wear a hat every day, your hair won't grow long if you wear a hat all the time.": I like my hats and I don't want my hair to grow long, Grandma.
-"Fine, you're going to wear earrings right?": No Grandma, they irritate my ears, I don't like 'em. As I kid I didn't like them.
"Well, you have to dress nice, you can't go out to eat wearing denims. When you go out with your friends you have to look nice so you can meet people."
You'd think I'd be dizzy from rolling my eyes so much. I finally get her to stop this ridiculous attempt at changing me by explaining I wear and present myself how I like. I don't like dresses or earrings so I don't wear them. I like my hats so I wear them. I have the commonsense to not go to a nice dinner in baggy messy jeans or cargos, but it's the same commonsense that keeps me from going to a messy art class in a really nice shirt. It's neither the time nor is it the place. No, I won't wear make-up, no I won't conform to society's conventions of beauty because I don't like them.
I am me, let me prove to you my life is fine, that I'm happy, when I'm not depressed - my appearance doesn't affect my depression, so I'm happy in how I look, how I dress and ow I carry myself. I have been told that things I have ae nice, that they look good, stop trying to compare me to my mother. Stop trying to compare me to other people, be happy that I'm happy.
I don't know. I could easily just say yes to everything she says I should do, but I wouldn't be happy. It's better to get this stupid non-important argument out of the way now instead of it being a stupid non-important argument in three months when sh sees me to wearing earrings, not wearing make-up, not wearing nail polish. I'll primp to my own tastes not hers. The thing is, like I said, I like how I dress, I like the clothes I wear, I don't want to 'work' that goes into being 'beautiful' and that shit all costs too much. Concealer, mascara, lipstick, blush, facial wash, zit cream, nail polish, nail polish remover, hair rollers, hair relaxant. If I had one of each of those things I'd've spent $100 easy. Why? To fit into what society considers to be beautiful. I want to buck trends and fuck convention.
It's like I questioned in this image http://dichigo.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d1kcwn9 a scribble from a few years ago, I want to go back to it again at some point, but why should I listen to the magazines, the voices outside. To hell with them, if I'm happy how I am, why do I have to listen to people out there who work so hard to change themselves and others to their own conventions and beauty, to what they think society would like. No, that's not me.
When I leave for that cruise I will have some nice shirts, I will have one or two skirts, I will also have sneakers, sandals, denim gouchos, one or two of my hats, either my FreakAngels or Israeli Paratrooper bag, at least one sketchbook, pens, pencils, two or three novels and my DS, plus other odds and ends. I'll have things to look nice in, to look nice with that I like, and I'll have the things I like that are comfortable. It's what I like
Jasmine P.
May 12, 2010
Faceook Privacy Issues and a Rant
Facebook's newest privacy policy
Why does any of my personal information have to be linked to what other people have put up or to Wikipedia? I currently have no information for my education, movies, books, interests or anything because I have to share it, or you can see it because Facebook has really retarded visibility previews. I don't know what anyone other than myself can see in relation to my information, but I disagree that it has to be linked to something else other than either a)Facebook or b) my network. If I want to find more information about what anyone I know has under their information, I can look it up myself without having to use a short cut given by Facebook, or forced upon me. This is bullshit and I feel that it's infringing upon my rights to keep things private. Yes, I want to share my reading or movie interests with my friends, but I don't feel that to do that I have to have it linked to whatever Facebook decides I need to be linked to. Yes, I say I like something, but does that mean I endorse it? Not always, and not for everyone.
I will again share a link I saw a few weeks ago [click here] How to opt out of some of Facebook's new changes that they never really announced. I mean, really, who updates or looks at their personal information every day? Hell, most of the time I only really look at anyone else information when I friend them, I have better things to do than to memorize what my friends love, and just reading it here would make me feel like a really creepy stalker.
[Click Here -2] This is a Facebook page about governing the changes, if you disagree with what they have automatically decided for you to share, you can voice your opinion here, now, let's see if they really care. Irritatingly you have to 'like' the site governance before you can comment, but if I must, I will. Only I plan on voice my opinion, do you? So far only 4 thousand of the few million Facebook members have voiced an opinion about the privacy changes, if you disagree with them say something. The more who do, the sooner we might be able to make our private information private again.
Another stupid Facebook thing I'm getting tired of is having to jump through hoops to see information about a group or idea. Like, if you want to see a list you have to join and possibly share the list with your friends. This hearkens back to about two years ago when there were a million and a half quizzes on the site and to see your result you -had- to share it with your friends to see some inane information. And if you wanted to see it again, you had to send it to more friends. Yeah, no. All those stupid lists and jokes are on the Internet and I'm sure I've seen many of them in some form or another over the years. It's not work it, I have other more interesting things I can be doing than whatever stupid tasks there are to see some group's information. Every day I see more and more little things that make me want to delete my account, clear out everything and leave one link to my main blog where all my other information can be found. My photos would only be on Flickr, what's on my mind on twitter and blogger and this would just be a front to my sites.
A few more Electronics Foundation Frontier (EFF) pages relating to current Facebook changes and Facebook in general
[Click Here 3] [Click Here 4]
[Click Here 5] - A very useful link, did you know your friends list was automatically visible to EVERYONE on Facebook?
Linked from an EFF post [Click Here 6] - Mark Zuckerberg "does not believe in 'privacy'"
Note, some of that information I may have shared in the past.
[Click Here 7] Our 'rights and responsibilities' according to Facebook
"Your privacy is very important to us. We designed our Privacy Policy to make important disclosures about how you can use Facebook to share with others and how we collect and can use your content and information. We encourage you to read the Privacy Policy, and to use it to help make informed decisions." From the beginning of that link. What the hell.
Good luck protecting your privacy.
Jasmine P.
Why does any of my personal information have to be linked to what other people have put up or to Wikipedia? I currently have no information for my education, movies, books, interests or anything because I have to share it, or you can see it because Facebook has really retarded visibility previews. I don't know what anyone other than myself can see in relation to my information, but I disagree that it has to be linked to something else other than either a)Facebook or b) my network. If I want to find more information about what anyone I know has under their information, I can look it up myself without having to use a short cut given by Facebook, or forced upon me. This is bullshit and I feel that it's infringing upon my rights to keep things private. Yes, I want to share my reading or movie interests with my friends, but I don't feel that to do that I have to have it linked to whatever Facebook decides I need to be linked to. Yes, I say I like something, but does that mean I endorse it? Not always, and not for everyone.
I will again share a link I saw a few weeks ago [click here] How to opt out of some of Facebook's new changes that they never really announced. I mean, really, who updates or looks at their personal information every day? Hell, most of the time I only really look at anyone else information when I friend them, I have better things to do than to memorize what my friends love, and just reading it here would make me feel like a really creepy stalker.
[Click Here -2] This is a Facebook page about governing the changes, if you disagree with what they have automatically decided for you to share, you can voice your opinion here, now, let's see if they really care. Irritatingly you have to 'like' the site governance before you can comment, but if I must, I will. Only I plan on voice my opinion, do you? So far only 4 thousand of the few million Facebook members have voiced an opinion about the privacy changes, if you disagree with them say something. The more who do, the sooner we might be able to make our private information private again.
Another stupid Facebook thing I'm getting tired of is having to jump through hoops to see information about a group or idea. Like, if you want to see a list you have to join and possibly share the list with your friends. This hearkens back to about two years ago when there were a million and a half quizzes on the site and to see your result you -had- to share it with your friends to see some inane information. And if you wanted to see it again, you had to send it to more friends. Yeah, no. All those stupid lists and jokes are on the Internet and I'm sure I've seen many of them in some form or another over the years. It's not work it, I have other more interesting things I can be doing than whatever stupid tasks there are to see some group's information. Every day I see more and more little things that make me want to delete my account, clear out everything and leave one link to my main blog where all my other information can be found. My photos would only be on Flickr, what's on my mind on twitter and blogger and this would just be a front to my sites.
A few more Electronics Foundation Frontier (EFF) pages relating to current Facebook changes and Facebook in general
[Click Here 3] [Click Here 4]
[Click Here 5] - A very useful link, did you know your friends list was automatically visible to EVERYONE on Facebook?
Linked from an EFF post [Click Here 6] - Mark Zuckerberg "does not believe in 'privacy'"
Note, some of that information I may have shared in the past.
[Click Here 7] Our 'rights and responsibilities' according to Facebook
"Your privacy is very important to us. We designed our Privacy Policy to make important disclosures about how you can use Facebook to share with others and how we collect and can use your content and information. We encourage you to read the Privacy Policy, and to use it to help make informed decisions." From the beginning of that link. What the hell.
Good luck protecting your privacy.
Jasmine P.
May 9, 2010
Some Thoughts on Sex, Religion and Other
I don't know if I'll ever get laid, I say this because of the hidridenitis I have around my vagina. It sucks enough sitting or bull shit, but the idea of anything other than my hand near it is kind of horrifying, all I can imagine is the pain. Not the good type of sexual pain that turns into pleasure, the horrible type of contact pain that happens when anything touches sore, irritated skin. It's a very depressing thought. When I first contemplated having sex with this shit and the fact that no sane man would ever want to go anywhere near it I actually wanted to kill myself. The idea lasted no longer than one, two days, then I realized I was being stupid. I no longer wish to die because I don't think I'll ever get laid, it just depresses me. I now wonder if I'll end up trying to push away any relationship that could happened because the proverbial 'happy ending' might not occur. That's a thought that's more difficult for me to shove away because I know that if I saw what I had on someone else I wouldn't want to touch it. It looks gross and it hurts like mofo. Everything makes it hurt. Movement of fabric over them, soap and water, stretching; hell, sometimes breathing hurts or even my blood moving underneath my skin causes sharp unpleasant pain. But I digress, I'll get back to my thoughts on sex, and my sexuality.
Sometimes I fear I won't get anybody because of how I act an dress. I am female, but I have said things and I think things that are not generally considered to be especially feminine. Those things make me worried that I won't be loved by someone. I know there are people out there that like people like me, but that's much harder to believe when none of them have approached me. I also wonder if because of how I dress that people think I'm a lesbian. I like men, I have no problem with ladies who like ladies, hell, I'm all for it. The only time not is when they're interested in me. I have said I'd like a compliment from anyone, male or female, but I think I'd be taken aback if too many women started coming onto me. I know I don't carry myself especially femininely, but it's another ball park if someone thought I liked women.
As I said before I'm all about whatever makes someone happy, but I guess a minor exception would be a female who was interested in me. I'd be nice about letting them down, but I doubt that will ever happen. As for men who like men, women who like women, or both who like both, party on! Do what and who [as long as it's not rape, incest or pedophilia] makes you happy. I have nothing wrong with homosexuality. I don't understand why other people have such an issue with people who like something they're against. I read an article, or heard a story somewhere where someone was gay and they asked a protester or someone who was against homosexuality why they cared so much. The response was along the lines of they were upset that they were going to hell.
Now, I care about people, I care a lot about the people around me, but I can't care to that extent about someone I don't know. I'm not religious, I'm Agnostic and/or Deist - something started it and isn't involved. I don't believe in heaven or hell. I believe that when you die, you're gone, just like when you're born you appear. It's not like your soul or spirit existed, got trapped in a body and is now free, it's there, then when you die, it's gone. What's the point of an afterlife? Why live a life, hellish or awesome, just to be shoved into another life that is a consequence of your first life. That doesn't make much sense. I don't believe if you're homosexual you go to hell, I don't believe that if you're heterosexual you go to heaven. I believe in what goes on on earth, if you're a good person life is alright, if you're a bad person life is less alright because you're possibly in prison or on the lam. Then when you die, you're gone. Said and done.
Back to the ideas of sex, I'd rather no know my friend's sexual proclivities. It's one thing to know if they've had sex, it's another thing to know any details. My life is going quite well without whatever details there may be. When I think to much about it, which is at all, my active imagination starts to picture things my life would have been fine without my thinking of. I mean, it's one thing to help and give advice. Actually, with my mind that's pretty bad, but it's another thing to hear about it. What he/she was like, how it started. I don't need to know. I'll wave a flag and cheer, but thinking much more than that is weird for me. I'll cheer for an promote safe sex and not using an abortion to 'fix' things, but after that I'm fine with not knowing. This goes for both genders.
I've noticed I really don't care about hearing people objectify either gender I'll just start tuning it out. Hearing all that much more is another thing. Talking about sex in general is fine, but putting a name, face, body to the situation is a lot weirder. I'm fine with knowing my friends quite well, but when my mind starts setting up a scene for them to go at it I need to stop, I need something else to think about.
I really don't know where this was supposed to go, this is a thought that I started some time ago. I figure I'll address it again at some point, but here's some type of starter. It's quite jumbled and nothing is really complete, but I feel it was good for me to give it a go and get some of thoughts down.
Jasmine P.
Sometimes I fear I won't get anybody because of how I act an dress. I am female, but I have said things and I think things that are not generally considered to be especially feminine. Those things make me worried that I won't be loved by someone. I know there are people out there that like people like me, but that's much harder to believe when none of them have approached me. I also wonder if because of how I dress that people think I'm a lesbian. I like men, I have no problem with ladies who like ladies, hell, I'm all for it. The only time not is when they're interested in me. I have said I'd like a compliment from anyone, male or female, but I think I'd be taken aback if too many women started coming onto me. I know I don't carry myself especially femininely, but it's another ball park if someone thought I liked women.
As I said before I'm all about whatever makes someone happy, but I guess a minor exception would be a female who was interested in me. I'd be nice about letting them down, but I doubt that will ever happen. As for men who like men, women who like women, or both who like both, party on! Do what and who [as long as it's not rape, incest or pedophilia] makes you happy. I have nothing wrong with homosexuality. I don't understand why other people have such an issue with people who like something they're against. I read an article, or heard a story somewhere where someone was gay and they asked a protester or someone who was against homosexuality why they cared so much. The response was along the lines of they were upset that they were going to hell.
Now, I care about people, I care a lot about the people around me, but I can't care to that extent about someone I don't know. I'm not religious, I'm Agnostic and/or Deist - something started it and isn't involved. I don't believe in heaven or hell. I believe that when you die, you're gone, just like when you're born you appear. It's not like your soul or spirit existed, got trapped in a body and is now free, it's there, then when you die, it's gone. What's the point of an afterlife? Why live a life, hellish or awesome, just to be shoved into another life that is a consequence of your first life. That doesn't make much sense. I don't believe if you're homosexual you go to hell, I don't believe that if you're heterosexual you go to heaven. I believe in what goes on on earth, if you're a good person life is alright, if you're a bad person life is less alright because you're possibly in prison or on the lam. Then when you die, you're gone. Said and done.
Back to the ideas of sex, I'd rather no know my friend's sexual proclivities. It's one thing to know if they've had sex, it's another thing to know any details. My life is going quite well without whatever details there may be. When I think to much about it, which is at all, my active imagination starts to picture things my life would have been fine without my thinking of. I mean, it's one thing to help and give advice. Actually, with my mind that's pretty bad, but it's another thing to hear about it. What he/she was like, how it started. I don't need to know. I'll wave a flag and cheer, but thinking much more than that is weird for me. I'll cheer for an promote safe sex and not using an abortion to 'fix' things, but after that I'm fine with not knowing. This goes for both genders.
I've noticed I really don't care about hearing people objectify either gender I'll just start tuning it out. Hearing all that much more is another thing. Talking about sex in general is fine, but putting a name, face, body to the situation is a lot weirder. I'm fine with knowing my friends quite well, but when my mind starts setting up a scene for them to go at it I need to stop, I need something else to think about.
I really don't know where this was supposed to go, this is a thought that I started some time ago. I figure I'll address it again at some point, but here's some type of starter. It's quite jumbled and nothing is really complete, but I feel it was good for me to give it a go and get some of thoughts down.
Jasmine P.
April 29, 2010
Dream: Rage Fever
Everything between the dashes is in edited English, mostly edited for spelling. A little bit edited for grammar, as you can see. And I am hella amused that I typed 'alarm cock' not once, but twice. I don't know why I was repetitive about The Guy's place, it just happened.
i keep waing up with fits of feverish blind rage. I don't know how they stared, it happened a the time. clickwork. I'd be fine all day, bt nigt would roll around and fits of rage and fever would hapen. I'd have chills, 'd start blacking out ad the only thing that would calm me from being hugged, one of those awesome ugs from behind. It was weird. I'd be weak unable t stand up, unable to move. Things would get broke, in a fit of rage.
---
--
I keep wakin up with fits of feverish blind rage. I don't know how they started, it happened all the time. Clockwork. I'd be fine all ay, but night would roll aroung and fits of rage and fever would happen. I'd have chills, I'd start blacking out and the only thing that would calm me was being hugged, one of those awesome hugs from behin. It was weird. I'd be weak, unable to stand up, unable to move. Things would get broken, in a fit of rage.
--
---
Before my alarm cock rang, I was at some guy's place, tall dude, he was too nice to me. It was day now, after a fit of rage. My father was there to get me, but from the looks of it I'd gone over there befoire in warlier rage things. I had ceramics pieces that needed to be glazed, and The Guy was awesome and started lazing them for me, so I'd have them for my final.
---
--
Before my alarm clock rang, I was at some guy's place, tall dude, he was too nice to me. It was day now, after a fit of rage. My father was there to be me, but from the looks of it I'd gone over there before in earlier rage things. I had ceramics pieces that needed to be glazed, and The Guy was awesome and started glazing them for me, so I'd have them for my final.
--
---
There was a weird bit from a backetall game I went to for whatever reason where some dude, a frend, kept trying ot run around naked. It was like he was having a Blind Fit of Eros, he tried having sex with his girlfriend and I saw his penis, it was werd, tiny and shrivvled. Tere wee a lot f penises shown at the game, they were all tiny and shrivvled Burnt looking.
---
--
There was a weird bit from a basketball game I went to, for whatever reason, there some dude, a friend, kept trying to run around naked. It was like he was having a Blid Fit of Eros, he had tried having sex with his girlfried and I saw his penic. It was weird, tiny, and shriveled. There were a lot of penises shown at the game. They were all tiny and shriveled. Burnt looking.
An army/navy cpatain or high ranking official was standing in front of me at one point, leaving onto the pet covered plexilass then...no, it was a teacher-coach from my school who was lleaning when a commanding occifer gave me the hirdest slap on te ass. Wild man. I somehow tried to get up and fell on the groun I was buy a friend, Clint, - from Borjo - and I mumbled if I had a fever call an ambulance. My teperature was 112, low fo a rage fit, but thy called anyway, I was losing control. I remmeber stumling around my apartment, kinda of, and friends drifted in and out of my awareness and got things togther for me.
---
--
An Army/Navy cpatain or high ranking official was standing in front of me at one point, leaning onto the net covered plexiglass...then not, it was a teacher-coach from my school who was leaning- when a commanding officer gave him te hardest slap on the ass. Wild man. I somehow tied to get up and fell on the ground, I was by a friend, Clint, - from Borjo- and I mumbled I had a fever, call and ambulace. My temperature was 112F, low for a Rage Fit, but they called anyway, I was losing control. I remember stumbling around my apartment, kind of, and friend drifted in and out of my awareness and got things together for me.
--
---
Next, I was at The Guy's house trying to udertad, but I idn't. My father showed up and tried to ask me if I was jut internallizing all my anger and I should exprss it, I said I did internallize, e tried to itnerript me, bt i interrupted im and tried to explain things that made me angry. The Gy was now glazing some random ceamic piece I had made, and my alarm cock woke me p.
---
--
Next I was at The Guy's house trying to understand, but I didn't. My father showed up and tries to ask me if I was just internalizing my anger and I should express it. I said I did internalize, he tried to interrupt me, but I interrupted him and tried to explain things that made me angry. The Guy was not glazing some random ceramic piece I had mad and my alarm clock woke me up.
--
---
----
I jst typed this up comppletely bleary eue, which I'm saying accounts for som of te typos, I'm tred from getting like, 1hour of sleep, I laid down at 4.35, I rembmer seeing 4.45a and then I guess I fell asleep and right into a fit of rage.
---
--
I just typed this up, completely bleary eyed, which I'm saying account for some (all) of the typos. I'm tired from getting like, 1 hour of sleep. I laid down at 4:35, I remember seeing 4:45am and them I guess I fell asleep and right into a fit of rage.
--
---
---
i feel as if Alex )theory101) was there somewhere, bt I don't remembe anything much lse than what I typed.
---
--
I feel as if Alex (theory101) was there somewhere, but I don't remember anything much else than what I typed.
Jasmine P.
i
a car was supposed to take me to The Guy's place, but it was weird, all full of old people. Well, they were 4 old chinese men in motrozed wheel cairs. The little little driver offere, bt Clint-friend spoke wo me and kept me calm then I was at The Gy's hous, calmer. Mayb I'd rallen asleep. I don't know, but what' what I kinda remember, i think. There may be more, but I dunno.
---
--
I (?)
A car was supposed to take me to The Guy's place, but it was weird, all full of old people. Well, there were 4 old Chinese men in motorized wheelchairs. The little little driver offered, but Clint-friend spoke to(?) me and kept me calm, then I was at The Guy' house, calmer. Maybe I'd fallen asleep. I don't know, but what I kinda remember, I think. There may be more, but I dunno.
--
---
----------------
----------------
----------------
I remember my apartment being weird. There was a tiered pink jacuzzi bath tub, and everything was get red. It was like being in a lowly lit club and not my apartment. That probably explains when there were random people there. It still doesn't make much sense.
i keep waing up with fits of feverish blind rage. I don't know how they stared, it happened a the time. clickwork. I'd be fine all day, bt nigt would roll around and fits of rage and fever would hapen. I'd have chills, 'd start blacking out ad the only thing that would calm me from being hugged, one of those awesome ugs from behind. It was weird. I'd be weak unable t stand up, unable to move. Things would get broke, in a fit of rage.
---
--
I keep wakin up with fits of feverish blind rage. I don't know how they started, it happened all the time. Clockwork. I'd be fine all ay, but night would roll aroung and fits of rage and fever would happen. I'd have chills, I'd start blacking out and the only thing that would calm me was being hugged, one of those awesome hugs from behin. It was weird. I'd be weak, unable to stand up, unable to move. Things would get broken, in a fit of rage.
--
---
Before my alarm cock rang, I was at some guy's place, tall dude, he was too nice to me. It was day now, after a fit of rage. My father was there to get me, but from the looks of it I'd gone over there befoire in warlier rage things. I had ceramics pieces that needed to be glazed, and The Guy was awesome and started lazing them for me, so I'd have them for my final.
---
--
Before my alarm clock rang, I was at some guy's place, tall dude, he was too nice to me. It was day now, after a fit of rage. My father was there to be me, but from the looks of it I'd gone over there before in earlier rage things. I had ceramics pieces that needed to be glazed, and The Guy was awesome and started glazing them for me, so I'd have them for my final.
--
---
There was a weird bit from a backetall game I went to for whatever reason where some dude, a frend, kept trying ot run around naked. It was like he was having a Blind Fit of Eros, he tried having sex with his girlfriend and I saw his penis, it was werd, tiny and shrivvled. Tere wee a lot f penises shown at the game, they were all tiny and shrivvled Burnt looking.
---
--
There was a weird bit from a basketball game I went to, for whatever reason, there some dude, a friend, kept trying to run around naked. It was like he was having a Blid Fit of Eros, he had tried having sex with his girlfried and I saw his penic. It was weird, tiny, and shriveled. There were a lot of penises shown at the game. They were all tiny and shriveled. Burnt looking.
An army/navy cpatain or high ranking official was standing in front of me at one point, leaving onto the pet covered plexilass then...no, it was a teacher-coach from my school who was lleaning when a commanding occifer gave me the hirdest slap on te ass. Wild man. I somehow tried to get up and fell on the groun I was buy a friend, Clint, - from Borjo - and I mumbled if I had a fever call an ambulance. My teperature was 112, low fo a rage fit, but thy called anyway, I was losing control. I remmeber stumling around my apartment, kinda of, and friends drifted in and out of my awareness and got things togther for me.
---
--
An Army/Navy cpatain or high ranking official was standing in front of me at one point, leaning onto the net covered plexiglass...then not, it was a teacher-coach from my school who was leaning- when a commanding officer gave him te hardest slap on the ass. Wild man. I somehow tied to get up and fell on the ground, I was by a friend, Clint, - from Borjo- and I mumbled I had a fever, call and ambulace. My temperature was 112F, low for a Rage Fit, but they called anyway, I was losing control. I remember stumbling around my apartment, kind of, and friend drifted in and out of my awareness and got things together for me.
--
---
Next, I was at The Guy's house trying to udertad, but I idn't. My father showed up and tried to ask me if I was jut internallizing all my anger and I should exprss it, I said I did internallize, e tried to itnerript me, bt i interrupted im and tried to explain things that made me angry. The Gy was now glazing some random ceamic piece I had made, and my alarm cock woke me p.
---
--
Next I was at The Guy's house trying to understand, but I didn't. My father showed up and tries to ask me if I was just internalizing my anger and I should express it. I said I did internalize, he tried to interrupt me, but I interrupted him and tried to explain things that made me angry. The Guy was not glazing some random ceramic piece I had mad and my alarm clock woke me up.
--
---
----
I jst typed this up comppletely bleary eue, which I'm saying accounts for som of te typos, I'm tred from getting like, 1hour of sleep, I laid down at 4.35, I rembmer seeing 4.45a and then I guess I fell asleep and right into a fit of rage.
---
--
I just typed this up, completely bleary eyed, which I'm saying account for some (all) of the typos. I'm tired from getting like, 1 hour of sleep. I laid down at 4:35, I remember seeing 4:45am and them I guess I fell asleep and right into a fit of rage.
--
---
---
i feel as if Alex )theory101) was there somewhere, bt I don't remembe anything much lse than what I typed.
---
--
I feel as if Alex (theory101) was there somewhere, but I don't remember anything much else than what I typed.
Jasmine P.
i
a car was supposed to take me to The Guy's place, but it was weird, all full of old people. Well, they were 4 old chinese men in motrozed wheel cairs. The little little driver offere, bt Clint-friend spoke wo me and kept me calm then I was at The Gy's hous, calmer. Mayb I'd rallen asleep. I don't know, but what' what I kinda remember, i think. There may be more, but I dunno.
---
--
I (?)
A car was supposed to take me to The Guy's place, but it was weird, all full of old people. Well, there were 4 old Chinese men in motorized wheelchairs. The little little driver offered, but Clint-friend spoke to(?) me and kept me calm, then I was at The Guy' house, calmer. Maybe I'd fallen asleep. I don't know, but what I kinda remember, I think. There may be more, but I dunno.
--
---
----------------
----------------
----------------
I remember my apartment being weird. There was a tiered pink jacuzzi bath tub, and everything was get red. It was like being in a lowly lit club and not my apartment. That probably explains when there were random people there. It still doesn't make much sense.
April 28, 2010
Glossing Over Life
Oh hello there April 28th. My life has been to enh these past few weeks...well, just key days and most nights when the depression hits that so far today hasn't been shit. It has been three years since my mom died in her hospital bed in Reston, VA. It was shit.
I had something that was much more entertaining after I addressed her death, but now I don't feel like going into any of it. I spoke about Nerimon - Alex Day- and the fact that everything I'd written before was much more entertaining as I had been thinking in an English accent...he's English. I lso spoke about plans for next week and going into finals week. And Pringles, I was eating Pringles before. I'd gone on about needing a shower and not wanting my roommate to see me naked, which has happened before, it was awkward. I like the original blog a lot more. I also addressed my possible carpal tunnel, it's a mofo in my left wrist, if I have it. I really don't know. My internet acted up, so I had no draft saved, this bites. I'm making lunch, grits and ham, then I'm working on my fundamentals of drawing and design portfolio.
Jasmine P.
I had something that was much more entertaining after I addressed her death, but now I don't feel like going into any of it. I spoke about Nerimon - Alex Day- and the fact that everything I'd written before was much more entertaining as I had been thinking in an English accent...he's English. I lso spoke about plans for next week and going into finals week. And Pringles, I was eating Pringles before. I'd gone on about needing a shower and not wanting my roommate to see me naked, which has happened before, it was awkward. I like the original blog a lot more. I also addressed my possible carpal tunnel, it's a mofo in my left wrist, if I have it. I really don't know. My internet acted up, so I had no draft saved, this bites. I'm making lunch, grits and ham, then I'm working on my fundamentals of drawing and design portfolio.
Jasmine P.
April 27, 2010
I think I see the bottom
started 11:35pm-12:29am
So, I'm hella depressed. I want yesterday and Friday to return, they were great days. They were pretty happy, relatively carefree. Now I'm just fucking depressed. I'm just about out of money, so I can't buy things which is my usual short term remedy for being depressed. I'm mostly down at the moment because of that. It's a really stupid reason to be depressed, but things are going to change, it seems. I'm going to try to apply at Borjo again, and apply for a loan through campus. Maybe I'll get a few hundred, maybe a thousand or so to help with everything. Life sucks when you're coasting along and them BAM! Shit happens. I know, I've been headed this way since sophomore year, actually, but since it's now aggressively in my face I need to rectify the situation. Why couldn't this have happened next week? If it was next week instead I'd be planning on going home and I'd be able to wallow for a bit instead of wavering in and out. Maannn, this is rough. I almost want to cry, i think I might. My text message ring tone makes me smile. Maybe tomorrow I'll talk to Alex, that should help. It might not. I think I might raid my meager possessions to see what I can sell. I think this might just be an immediate reaction. Hopefully it'll go away soon. I do know I have to cut a few things out, like coffee and cigarettes. No more daily coffee, it'll be once a week, but I'll still hang out there. The people are a good part of why I go to Borjo every day. Fuck, now I'm crying. I want to be a kid again, I want my mother to take care of everything. That can't happen, she's dead. Oh look, it's almost three whole years since the shittiest day of my remembered life. Ugh, I hate this, I'm just whining right now. Seriously, why didn't my brothers withold my money before, when I was but a child?
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I want bliss, I want joy, I want to be loved. I want someone to hug me and love me. I know it probably wouldn't help my full situation all that much, but from where I'm sitting right now, it seems like it would be a fair bit better. I know I'm just imagining the highs of being loved, but it would be a hell of a lot better than me sitting here wallowing in depression.
Man, I talk about Friday, but I haven't really said what happened. I wasn't me, it was amazing. I was at Borjo doing the usual. I happened to see Megan, one of the Sobo bartenders on her way back to the bar, she told me a dj would be there. I haven't been to the bar in a while so I went over. Joe M. was there with some friends, and he was paying for drinks, at least up front, so drinks cost 1/2 as much as usual. I accepted it, free drinks, yo. I meet some friends, Christina, Zack, and Abraham. Christina was druuuunk and pretty damn funny. Zack was a bit of a whiney bitch, but entertaining. I didn't speak with Abe much, he rolled out pretty early. After maybe 45 minutes there Joe decides he want to go to the Boar's Nest. I had no one else to talk to, so I tagged along. I met some other friends and acquaintances there and as I drank my regular self slipped away and I started getting louder and dancing. This one dude, Micah, he was tall, adorable and hella nice to me. I harassed him so much, but he let me. He had the cutest smile when I called him out on that. I had a weak ass apology of 'I wouldn't do this if I was sober' after some of the shit I did, and I did relatively few things I would have if I was sober. I danced, lewdly which was fun. I dropped a lot of ice down his shirt and down the back of his briefs. Coup de gra, I got one down the front of his pants. That was the most amusing one. Some other dude, John I think, had his wrists so he couldn't stop me, then I took his hands to keep him from automatically being able to get the ice. God, I was mean. I grabbed his ass, twice, his reaction was adorable. I told him I thought he was adorable. I should have told him I liked him. I did, I still do. I wish I was less of a coward, worst he would have said was he didn't like me. Best, as far as I'll allow my imagination, I could have gotten a kiss. A drunken kiss, but still a kiss. I got a lot of hugs, and he was willing to hug me every time I asked. Too damn nice. I also tweaked and rubbed a few nipples, I remember that and had Micah pull up his shirt and she me his tattoo, I don't even remember why, I think I was looking for his nipple then. It was great not being me, and kinda horrible at the same time.
I had a delicious drink called a Florida Storm. Vodka, peach schnapps, mango rum/vodka, bitters, grenadine. Maybe something else. It was good, I'd buy it again. It was unbelievable fun to be not me. I can't do that all the time, money aside, I don't like sleeping on the bathroom floor, in case I vomit, or the feeling of drinking too much. My last LOIT was one too much, I've leaned that 7-8 drinks/shots are where I should stop. Now I know for the future. But Friday was still glourious, I felt loved. I felt like someone liked my body, maybe a little, or maybe he liked the attention, I know I loved the attention. For the night, he had my heart, and now he's going home to Kentucky and chances are I'll never see him again. It's probably better that way, I don't know how I could face him sober. I'd probably just pretend most of what I did on Friday didn't happen. From Friday there are some other people I hung out with and enjoyed drunkenly talking to, but I kind of had a little bit of a one track mind so, ah-hem I can't write much about them.
Do I regret Friday, not on my life. Would I do it again, yup. When, maybe at the end of May, maybe later then that, I dunno yet. Have I cheered myself up, you know it! I'll handle the money situation later, but for now I'll go back to my awesome memories of one fantastically no-me night and go to sleep.
Jasmine P.
So, I'm hella depressed. I want yesterday and Friday to return, they were great days. They were pretty happy, relatively carefree. Now I'm just fucking depressed. I'm just about out of money, so I can't buy things which is my usual short term remedy for being depressed. I'm mostly down at the moment because of that. It's a really stupid reason to be depressed, but things are going to change, it seems. I'm going to try to apply at Borjo again, and apply for a loan through campus. Maybe I'll get a few hundred, maybe a thousand or so to help with everything. Life sucks when you're coasting along and them BAM! Shit happens. I know, I've been headed this way since sophomore year, actually, but since it's now aggressively in my face I need to rectify the situation. Why couldn't this have happened next week? If it was next week instead I'd be planning on going home and I'd be able to wallow for a bit instead of wavering in and out. Maannn, this is rough. I almost want to cry, i think I might. My text message ring tone makes me smile. Maybe tomorrow I'll talk to Alex, that should help. It might not. I think I might raid my meager possessions to see what I can sell. I think this might just be an immediate reaction. Hopefully it'll go away soon. I do know I have to cut a few things out, like coffee and cigarettes. No more daily coffee, it'll be once a week, but I'll still hang out there. The people are a good part of why I go to Borjo every day. Fuck, now I'm crying. I want to be a kid again, I want my mother to take care of everything. That can't happen, she's dead. Oh look, it's almost three whole years since the shittiest day of my remembered life. Ugh, I hate this, I'm just whining right now. Seriously, why didn't my brothers withold my money before, when I was but a child?
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I want bliss, I want joy, I want to be loved. I want someone to hug me and love me. I know it probably wouldn't help my full situation all that much, but from where I'm sitting right now, it seems like it would be a fair bit better. I know I'm just imagining the highs of being loved, but it would be a hell of a lot better than me sitting here wallowing in depression.
Man, I talk about Friday, but I haven't really said what happened. I wasn't me, it was amazing. I was at Borjo doing the usual. I happened to see Megan, one of the Sobo bartenders on her way back to the bar, she told me a dj would be there. I haven't been to the bar in a while so I went over. Joe M. was there with some friends, and he was paying for drinks, at least up front, so drinks cost 1/2 as much as usual. I accepted it, free drinks, yo. I meet some friends, Christina, Zack, and Abraham. Christina was druuuunk and pretty damn funny. Zack was a bit of a whiney bitch, but entertaining. I didn't speak with Abe much, he rolled out pretty early. After maybe 45 minutes there Joe decides he want to go to the Boar's Nest. I had no one else to talk to, so I tagged along. I met some other friends and acquaintances there and as I drank my regular self slipped away and I started getting louder and dancing. This one dude, Micah, he was tall, adorable and hella nice to me. I harassed him so much, but he let me. He had the cutest smile when I called him out on that. I had a weak ass apology of 'I wouldn't do this if I was sober' after some of the shit I did, and I did relatively few things I would have if I was sober. I danced, lewdly which was fun. I dropped a lot of ice down his shirt and down the back of his briefs. Coup de gra, I got one down the front of his pants. That was the most amusing one. Some other dude, John I think, had his wrists so he couldn't stop me, then I took his hands to keep him from automatically being able to get the ice. God, I was mean. I grabbed his ass, twice, his reaction was adorable. I told him I thought he was adorable. I should have told him I liked him. I did, I still do. I wish I was less of a coward, worst he would have said was he didn't like me. Best, as far as I'll allow my imagination, I could have gotten a kiss. A drunken kiss, but still a kiss. I got a lot of hugs, and he was willing to hug me every time I asked. Too damn nice. I also tweaked and rubbed a few nipples, I remember that and had Micah pull up his shirt and she me his tattoo, I don't even remember why, I think I was looking for his nipple then. It was great not being me, and kinda horrible at the same time.
I had a delicious drink called a Florida Storm. Vodka, peach schnapps, mango rum/vodka, bitters, grenadine. Maybe something else. It was good, I'd buy it again. It was unbelievable fun to be not me. I can't do that all the time, money aside, I don't like sleeping on the bathroom floor, in case I vomit, or the feeling of drinking too much. My last LOIT was one too much, I've leaned that 7-8 drinks/shots are where I should stop. Now I know for the future. But Friday was still glourious, I felt loved. I felt like someone liked my body, maybe a little, or maybe he liked the attention, I know I loved the attention. For the night, he had my heart, and now he's going home to Kentucky and chances are I'll never see him again. It's probably better that way, I don't know how I could face him sober. I'd probably just pretend most of what I did on Friday didn't happen. From Friday there are some other people I hung out with and enjoyed drunkenly talking to, but I kind of had a little bit of a one track mind so, ah-hem I can't write much about them.
Do I regret Friday, not on my life. Would I do it again, yup. When, maybe at the end of May, maybe later then that, I dunno yet. Have I cheered myself up, you know it! I'll handle the money situation later, but for now I'll go back to my awesome memories of one fantastically no-me night and go to sleep.
Jasmine P.
April 3, 2010
Some Thoughts on Religion
This past Thursday I kind of attempted to explain my thoughts on religion to a Christian friend of mine. It was difficult because I didn't want to sounds disrespectful of religion but at the same time I was attempting to explain, sort of, why I don't really prescribe to any "religion".
I was raised primarily attending a Protestant church, Heritage Fellowship United Church of Christ. With my father I'd attend a Catholic church, and when we visited my Grandmother if we went to church it was to Moravian church. I was an usher for my church, I participated in Sunday School and went to Bible Camp in the summer. I was an active enough member and helped with some outreach programs that were both religious and not religiously motivated.
I was raised Christian.
Since my mother died I stopped going to church, mostly because she was the one taking me. Church was also getting annoying because I was really getting tired of people's sympathy, there was more to my short life of 18 years than my mother's death. I didn't want to hear condolences. I tell people my mom 'died' because outside of that and saying she is 'deceased' it sounds like you're trying to soften the blow. The moment she died, I grew up. In some way. In many ways I was still a child, but as far as the death of someone close to me, I had handled it. I didn't need to go to God to find answers because science had provided them. A random mutation gave her lymphoma. Chemotherapy and medication ruined her body, she was dead. She's not 'lost', hasn't 'passed on', she's not 'gone' or whatever 'kind' words people use. She was dead, I accepted it and I don't like other people bringing it up. It's one thing if I were to initiate the conversation, it's another when I'd hear every time they saw me 'how are you doing?' or 'is everything okay?' I was tired of the compassion, I had things to do such as graduating and getting onto college. I mourned in my own way which involved dwelling, writing and drawing. A deity had nothing to do with it. I didn't pray, I meditated and decided it was better with her dead. She wasn't in pain, and I'd rather her be dead and a memory then a constant depressing reminder of just how fucked up death can be. Daily visits to a hospital to sit next to the body of my mother who was barely able to do more than listen was not fun. It was fucking depressing. My senior year of high school got fucked over. Things were different, difficult and easier with her dead. I can see no reason why she would have to die, but shit happens and you move on.
I can almost guarantee I'd be more fucked up and depressed if I tried to pin her death on God.
A few years later and more sciences classes that gave me more answers about the world in general than the Bible had, I decided I was Agnostic. The way I understood it, there was some sort of deity out there, maybe God, maybe gods, maybe something else. Some time later I heard of Deism, and how I understand it, some deity started everything then fucked off. I believe in science, I believe in what's tangible.
Tangible (adj); capable of being perceived especially by the sense of touch; : capable of being precisely identified or realized by the mind; capable of being appraised at an actual or approximate value.
As a kid I understood the word 'tangible' to mean something that could be seen or felt. You can't see wind but you can feel it. You can rationalize it, it affects things. Think carefully, you can't see glass or water when either is without imperfections. You see light reflected off of it, you can feel either. I understand God to be intangible. Things happen because God deems it necessary. It's blasphemous to question God. Why? The world I prefer is one where questioning things isn't just allowed, but encouraged.
With everything I have said I have yet to address my opinion of other people and their following of religion. I say 'believe what you want to'. As long as someone isn't attempting to force me to follow their beliefs, I don't care what they believe. I may think their beliefs sound a little stupid, or impractical; I may feel negatively about them, but as long as they don't try to force it on my, whatever floats their boat and finds their lost remote. If it makes you happy, so be it. If I seem happy or unhappy let me work it out myself. Don't tell me that some deity that I can't see nor truly speak to will give me the answers I desire. I can come to my own conclusion well enough.
---
In thinking about religion I have thought about what it answers and contemplated why it exists. I think that as humanoid and humanity developed and evolved they questioned the world around them. Unable to understand it they decided that there was something they couldn't see and gave it various attributes. By saying that an all powerful being, or a group of all powerful beings controlled things, early humans felt more at ease with the world deciding they knew something. In our modern society there I think some people feel at ease having an answer to life, or having a guidance for life. I think that some people like believing that there's more to life than eating, sleeping and procreation.
I have decided on my own rules. My rules for life are to over all be a good person. Don't impede others, don't let them impede you. And accomplish something. In general, accomplish something positive. Why do I think this way, I dunno. Maybe it's some residual from when I went to church. My difference is there isn't any consequence for not being a good person. When you die, you're dead. I like the afterlife shown in the movie and book What Dreams May Come. It cheered me up after my mom died because people could look how they wanted, they could be reincarnated they chose and it was like life-plus. There was no point, everything just was and people were comfortable with it. I live working towards what I want to do with my life and I'm happy this way. I'm not trying to please some deity I can't directly interact with, and I don't care to try to dispel someone else's beliefs. To adapt one of my favorite quotes "I disagree with what you believe, but I defend your right to the death to believe it." I may not care to listen or to debate, but keep on trucking.
Jasmine P.
I was raised primarily attending a Protestant church, Heritage Fellowship United Church of Christ. With my father I'd attend a Catholic church, and when we visited my Grandmother if we went to church it was to Moravian church. I was an usher for my church, I participated in Sunday School and went to Bible Camp in the summer. I was an active enough member and helped with some outreach programs that were both religious and not religiously motivated.
I was raised Christian.
Since my mother died I stopped going to church, mostly because she was the one taking me. Church was also getting annoying because I was really getting tired of people's sympathy, there was more to my short life of 18 years than my mother's death. I didn't want to hear condolences. I tell people my mom 'died' because outside of that and saying she is 'deceased' it sounds like you're trying to soften the blow. The moment she died, I grew up. In some way. In many ways I was still a child, but as far as the death of someone close to me, I had handled it. I didn't need to go to God to find answers because science had provided them. A random mutation gave her lymphoma. Chemotherapy and medication ruined her body, she was dead. She's not 'lost', hasn't 'passed on', she's not 'gone' or whatever 'kind' words people use. She was dead, I accepted it and I don't like other people bringing it up. It's one thing if I were to initiate the conversation, it's another when I'd hear every time they saw me 'how are you doing?' or 'is everything okay?' I was tired of the compassion, I had things to do such as graduating and getting onto college. I mourned in my own way which involved dwelling, writing and drawing. A deity had nothing to do with it. I didn't pray, I meditated and decided it was better with her dead. She wasn't in pain, and I'd rather her be dead and a memory then a constant depressing reminder of just how fucked up death can be. Daily visits to a hospital to sit next to the body of my mother who was barely able to do more than listen was not fun. It was fucking depressing. My senior year of high school got fucked over. Things were different, difficult and easier with her dead. I can see no reason why she would have to die, but shit happens and you move on.
I can almost guarantee I'd be more fucked up and depressed if I tried to pin her death on God.
A few years later and more sciences classes that gave me more answers about the world in general than the Bible had, I decided I was Agnostic. The way I understood it, there was some sort of deity out there, maybe God, maybe gods, maybe something else. Some time later I heard of Deism, and how I understand it, some deity started everything then fucked off. I believe in science, I believe in what's tangible.
Tangible (adj); capable of being perceived especially by the sense of touch; : capable of being precisely identified or realized by the mind; capable of being appraised at an actual or approximate value.
As a kid I understood the word 'tangible' to mean something that could be seen or felt. You can't see wind but you can feel it. You can rationalize it, it affects things. Think carefully, you can't see glass or water when either is without imperfections. You see light reflected off of it, you can feel either. I understand God to be intangible. Things happen because God deems it necessary. It's blasphemous to question God. Why? The world I prefer is one where questioning things isn't just allowed, but encouraged.
With everything I have said I have yet to address my opinion of other people and their following of religion. I say 'believe what you want to'. As long as someone isn't attempting to force me to follow their beliefs, I don't care what they believe. I may think their beliefs sound a little stupid, or impractical; I may feel negatively about them, but as long as they don't try to force it on my, whatever floats their boat and finds their lost remote. If it makes you happy, so be it. If I seem happy or unhappy let me work it out myself. Don't tell me that some deity that I can't see nor truly speak to will give me the answers I desire. I can come to my own conclusion well enough.
---
In thinking about religion I have thought about what it answers and contemplated why it exists. I think that as humanoid and humanity developed and evolved they questioned the world around them. Unable to understand it they decided that there was something they couldn't see and gave it various attributes. By saying that an all powerful being, or a group of all powerful beings controlled things, early humans felt more at ease with the world deciding they knew something. In our modern society there I think some people feel at ease having an answer to life, or having a guidance for life. I think that some people like believing that there's more to life than eating, sleeping and procreation.
I have decided on my own rules. My rules for life are to over all be a good person. Don't impede others, don't let them impede you. And accomplish something. In general, accomplish something positive. Why do I think this way, I dunno. Maybe it's some residual from when I went to church. My difference is there isn't any consequence for not being a good person. When you die, you're dead. I like the afterlife shown in the movie and book What Dreams May Come. It cheered me up after my mom died because people could look how they wanted, they could be reincarnated they chose and it was like life-plus. There was no point, everything just was and people were comfortable with it. I live working towards what I want to do with my life and I'm happy this way. I'm not trying to please some deity I can't directly interact with, and I don't care to try to dispel someone else's beliefs. To adapt one of my favorite quotes "I disagree with what you believe, but I defend your right to the death to believe it." I may not care to listen or to debate, but keep on trucking.
Jasmine P.
March 11, 2010
Elementary Genius
Yesterday morning I had breakfast with a friend of mine I've know from 4th grade. We were reminiscing and she told me a story about one of our first conversations. I don't remember this nor saying this but I could totally see myself saying this.
That was fucking brilliant of me to say as a kid. In 4th grade I was ten or eleven, so I was young-ish. I dunno, this story amused me, so I decided to share.
Jasmine P.
I was sitting, possibly at recess, with a book. She noticed I was just staring at the pages and not turning them. "You're not reading, you haven't turned a page."
I responded "Well, if I sit here and just look around, people will think I'm looking at them and ask me 'what are you looking at?' If I sit here and stare at the ground people will come to me as ask 'what are you looking at?' over and over. I look at a book so people think I'm reading and leave me alone."
That was fucking brilliant of me to say as a kid. In 4th grade I was ten or eleven, so I was young-ish. I dunno, this story amused me, so I decided to share.
Jasmine P.
February 21, 2010
Buy the Ticket, Take the Ride - Hunter S. Thompson
This is a collection of quotes from the deceased Hunter S. Thompson. I think they're all interesting. At the end are the two longest quotes, the Wave Speech from "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas", and the Edge Speech from "Hell's Angles: A Strange and Terrible Saga". This was collected so I'd say things other than quotes from him today on Twitter, and as a belated recognition of his suicide and death from five years ago yesterday. I was preoccupied which is why this is being done today.
-On my tombstone they will carve, "IT NEVER GOT FAST ENOUGH FOR ME."
-"I haven't found a drug yet that can get you anywhere near as high as a sitting at a desk writing, trying to imagine a story no matter how bizarre it is, [or] going out and getting into the weirdness of reality and doing a little time on the Proud Highway."
-No sympathy for the devil; keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride...and if it occasionally gets a little heavier than what you had in mind, well...maybe chalk it off to forced conscious expansion: Tune in, freak out, get beaten."
-It never got weird enough for me."
-Some may never live, but the crazy never die
-"So we shall let the reader answer this question for himself: who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?"
-"Music has always been a matter of Energy to me, a question of Fuel. Sentimental people call it Inspiration, but what they really mean is Fuel. I have always needed Fuel. I am a serious consumer. On some nights I still believe that a car with the gas needle on empty can run about fifty more miles if you have the right music very loud on the radio."
-"Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!'"
-"Let us toast to animal pleasures, to escapism, to rain on the roof and instant coffee, to unemployment insurance and library cards, to absinthe and good-hearted landlords, to music and warm bodies and contraceptives... and to the "good life", whatever it is and wherever it happens to be."
-"Life has become immeasurably better since I have been forced to stop taking it seriously."
-Sex without love is as hollow and ridiculous as love without sex."
-"I have a theory that the truth is never told during the nine-to-five hours. "
-"All my life, my heart has sought a thing I cannot name.
Remembered line from a long-
forgotten poem"
-"There are times, however, and this is one of them, when even being right feels wrong. What do you say, for instance, about a generation that has been taught that rain is poison and sex is death? If making love might be fatal and if a cool spring breeze on any summer afternoon can turn a crystal blue lake into a puddle of black poison right in front of your eyes, there is not much left except TV and relentless masturbation. It's a strange world. Some people get rich and others eat shit and die."
-"I was not proud of what I had learned but I never doubted that it was worth knowing."
-"We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... and also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls.
Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can."
I-t was obvious that he was a man who marched through life to the rhythms of some drum I would never hear."
-"Freedom is something that dies unless it's used."
-In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught. In a world of thieves, the only final sin is stupidity."
-No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax — This won't hurt"
-"A word to the wise is infuriating. "
-Yesterday's weirdness is tomorrow's reason why."
-For every moment of triumph, for every instance of beauty, many souls must be trampled. "
-"Journalism is not a profession or a trade. It is a cheap catch-all for fuckoffs and misfits -- a false doorway to the backside of life, a filthy piss-ridden little hole nailed off by the building inspector, but just deep enough for a wino to curl up from the sidewalk and masturbate like a chimp in a zoo-cage."
-I miss Nixon. Compared to these Nazis we have in the White House now, Richard Nixon was a flaming liberal."
-Some people will tell you that slow is good – but I’m here to tell you that fast is better. I’ve always believed this, in spite of the trouble it’s caused me. Being shot out of a cannon will always be better than being squeezed out of a tube. That is why God made fast motorcycles, Bubba…"
-"I understand that fear is my friend, but not always. Never turn your back on Fear. It should always be in front of you, like a thing that might have to be killed. My father taught me that, along with a few other things that have kept my life interesting."
-"We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and -- in spite of True Romance magazines -- we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely -- at least, not all the time -- but essentially, and finally, alone. This is what makes your self-respect so important, and I don't see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness."
-Too strange to live, too rare to die!"
-The highways are crowded with people who drive as if their sole purpose in getting behind the wheel is to avenge every wrong done them by man, beast or fate. The only thing that keeps them in line is their fear of death, jail and lawsuits."
-"We cannot expect people to have respect for law and order until we teach respect to those we have entrusted to enforce those laws."
-Maybe there is no Heaven. Or maybe this is all pure gibberish—a product of the demented imagination of a lazy drunken hillbilly with a heart full of hate who has found a way to live out where the real winds blow—to sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whisky, and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested . . . Res ipsa loquitur. Let the good times roll."
-"You better take care of me Lord, if you don't you're gonna have me on your hands. "
-It gave me a strange feeling, and the rest of that night I didn’t say much, but merely sat there and drank, trying to decide if I was getting older and wiser, or just plain old."
-"Fear is a healthy instinct, not a sign of weakness. It is a natural self-defense mechanism that is common to felines, wolves, hyenas, and most humans. Even fruit bats know fear, and I salute them for it. If you think the world is weird now, imagine how weird it would be if wild beasts had no fear."
-I've always considered writing the most hateful kind of work. I suspect it's a bit like fucking, which is only fun for amateurs. Old whores don't do much giggling."
-"Hallucinations are bad enough. But after awhile you learn to cope with things like seeing your dead grandmother crawling up your leg with a knife in her teeth. Most acid fanciers can handle this sort of thing. But nobody can handle that other trip-the possibility that any freak with $1.98 can walk into the Circus-Circus and suddenly appear in the sky over downtown Las Vegas twelve times the size of God, howling anything that comes into his head. No, this is not a good town for psychedelic drugs."
-"The difference between the right word and the nearly right word is the difference between lightning and lightning bug."
-Sane is rich and powerful. Insane is wrong and poor and weak. The rich are free, the poor are put in cages. Res Ipsa Loquitur, amen. Mahalo."
-Going to trial with a lawyer who considers your whole life-style a Crime in Progress is not a happy prospect.
-If I'd written all the truth I knew for the past ten years, about 600 people - including me - would be rotting in prison cells from Rio to Seattle today. Absolute truth is a very rare and dangerous commodity in the context of professional journalism.
-No man is so foolish but he may sometimes give another good counsel, and no man so wise that he may not easily err if he takes no other counsel than his own. He that is taught only by himself has a fool for a master.
-"We are going to punish somebody for this attack, but just who or where will be blown to smithereens for it is hard to say. Maybe Afghanistan, maybe Pakistan or Irag, or possibly all three at once. Who knows? Not even the Generals in what remains of the Pentagon or the New York papers calling for war seem to know who did it or where to look for them.
This is going to be a very expensive war, and Victory is not guaranteed--for anyone, and certainly not for a baffled little creep like George W. Bush. All he knows is that his father started the war a long time ago, and that he, the goofy child President, has been chosen by Fate and the global Oil industry to finish it off."
-"We are turning into a nation of whimpering slaves to Fear—fear of war, fear of poverty, fear of random terrorism, fear of getting down-sized or fired because of the plunging economy, fear of getting evicted for bad debts or suddenly getting locked up in a military detention camp on vague charges of being a Terrorist sympathizer."
-There may be flies on you and me, but there are no flies on Jesus."
-As things stand now, I am going to be a writer. I'm not sure that I'm going to be a good one or even a self-supporting one, but until the dark thumb of fate presses me to the dust and says 'you are nothing', I will be a writer."
-"I have no taste for either poverty or honest labor, so writing is the only recourse left for me"
-I shared a vagrant optimism that some of us were making real progress, that we had taken an honest road, and that the best of us would inevitably make it over the top. At the same time, I felt that the life we were leading was a lost cause, that we were all actor, kidding ourselves on a senseless odyssey. It was the tension between those two poles - a restless idealism on one hand and a sense of impending doom on the other - that kept me going. "
-"We came out here to find the American Dream, and now that we're right in the vortex you want to quit ... You must realize that we've found the main nerve."
"I know," he said. "That's what gives me the Fear.'"
-"The scene I had just witnessed (a couple making love in the ocean) brought back a lot of memories – not of things I had done but of things I had failed to do, wasted hours and frustrated moments and opportunities forever lost because time had eaten so much of my life and I would never get it back. I envied Yeoman and felt sorry for myself at the same time, because I had seen him in a moment that made all my happiness seem dull."
-Weird behavior is natural in smart children, like curiosity is to a kitten."
-Anything worth doing, is worth doing right"
-A lot of blood has gone under the bridge since then, and we have all learned a hell of a lot about the realities of Politics in America. Even the politicians have learned – but, as usual, the politicians are much slower than the people they want to lead."
-I'm a relatively respectable citizen. Multiple felon perhaps, but certainly not dangerous."
-But our trip was different. It was a classic affirmation of everything right and true and decent in the national character. It was a gross, physical salute to the fantastic possibilities of life in this country-but only for those with true grit. And we were chock full of that."
-"I'm sure I must have sounded like a fool and a borderline psychotic most of that year, when I talked to people who thought they knew who and where they were at the time ... but looking back, I see that if I wasn't Right, at least I wasn't Wrong, and in that context I was forced to learn from my confusion ... which took awhile, and there's still no proof that what I finally learned was Right, but there's not a hell of a lot of evidence to show that I'm Wrong either."
-I felt a strange tightness coming over me, and I reacted instinctively – for the first time in a long, long while – by slipping my notebook into my belt and reaching down to take off my watch. The first thing to go in a street fight is your watch, and once you’ve lost a few, you develop a certain instinct that lets you know when it’s time to get the thing off your wrist and into a safe pocket."
-"All we have to do is get out and vote, while it's still legal, and we will wash those crooked warmongers out of the White House."
-"He had come so far from himself that I don't think he knew who he was anymore."
-...To show man the best that is in him; not the most appealing or the most amusing or even the most realistic - but the best, which is rare and common and understood by all of us in all our different ways ... to include all the others - the meanest, the cheapest, the most cowardly - as a background and a foreground for something better ... to dig in the old scum that covers us all and find something that might be a tool for a man who would use it to fashion his self-respect in a world where all those tools are buried or broken or illegal ... and finally to tell it as it is, trying to see it all and especially the best, for to miss that part is to shovel shit on men who were born in quicksand and find no novelty in the heave and smell of doom." "
-If you can't make yourself understood by your friends, you'll be in trouble when your enemies come for you."
-If you're going to be crazy, you have to get paid for it or else you're going to be locked up."
-Like most of the others, I was a seeker, a mover, a malcontent, and at times a stupid hell-raiser. I was never idle long enough to do much thinking, but I felt somehow that my instincts were right. I shared a vagrant optimism that some of us were making real progress, that we had taken an honest road, and that the best of us would inevitably make it over the top. At the same time, I shared a dark suspicion that the life we were leading was a lost cause, that we were all actors, kidding ourselves along on a senseless odyssey. It was the tension between these two poles--a restless idealism on one hand and a sense of impending doom on the other--that kept me going."
-So much for Objective Journalism. Don't bother to look for it here--not under any byline of mine; or anyone else I can think of. With the possible exception of things like box scores, race results, and stock market tabulations, there is no such thing as Objective Journalism. The phrase itself is a pompous contradiction in terms."
-from Hell's Angels...One of the worst incidents of that era caused no complaints at all: this was a sort of good-natured firepower demonstration, which occurred one Sunday morning about three-thirty. For reasons that were never made clear, I blew out my back windows with five blasts of a 12 gauge shotgun, followed moments later by six rounds from a .44 Magnum. It was a prolonged outburst of heavy firing, drunken laughter, and crashing glass. Yet the neighbors reacted with total silence. For a while I assumed that some freakish wind pocket had absorbed all the noise and carried it out to sea, but after my eviction I learned otherwise. Every one of the shots had been duly recorded on the gossip log. Another tenant in the building told me the landlord was convinced, by all the tales he'd heard, that the interior of my apartment was reduced to rubble by orgies, brawls, fires, and wanton shooting. He had even heard stories about motorcycles being driven in and out the front door.
-"One of God's own prototypes. Some kind of high powered mutant never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die."
Conclusion:
The Wave Speech
"Strange memories on this nervous night in Las Vegas. Five years later? Six? It seems like a lifetime, or at least a Main Era—the kind of peak that never comes again. San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run . . . but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant. . . .
History is hard to know, because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of “history” it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole generation comes to a head in a long fine flash, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time—and which never explain, in retrospect, what actually happened.
My central memory of that time seems to hang on one or five or maybe forty nights—or very early mornings—when I left the Fillmore half-crazy and, instead of going home, aimed the big 650 Lightning across the Bay Bridge at a hundred miles an hour wearing L. L. Bean shorts and a Butte sheepherder's jacket . . . booming through the Treasure Island tunnel at the lights of Oakland and Berkeley and Richmond, not quite sure which turn-off to take when I got to the other end (always stalling at the toll-gate, too twisted to find neutral while I fumbled for change) . . . but being absolutely certain that no matter which way I went I would come to a place where people were just as high and wild as I was: No doubt at all about that. . . .
There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Golden Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda. . . . You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. . . .
And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting—on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. . . .
So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark—that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back."
-Fear and Loathing in Las Veas: A Savage Journey into the Heart of the American Dream
The Edge Speech
Months later, when I rarely saw the Angels, I still had the legacy of the big machine—four hundred pounds of chrome and deep red noise to take out on the Coast highway and cut loose at three in the morning, when all the cops were lurking over on the 101. My first crash had wrecked the bike completely and it took several months to have it rebuilt. After that i decided to tide it differently: I would stop pushing my luck on curves, always wear a helmet and try to keep within range of the nearest speed limit...my insurance had already been canceled and my driver's license was hanging by a thread.
So it was always at night, like a werewolf, that I would take the thing out for an honest run down the coast. I would start in Golden Gate park, thinking only to run a few long curves to clear my head...but in a matter of minutes I'd be out at the beach with the sound of the engine in my ears, the surf booming up on the sea wall and a fine empty road stretching all the way down to Santa Cruz...not even a gas station in the whole seventy miles; the only public light along the way is an all-night diner down around Rockaway Beach.
There was no helmet on those nights, no speed limit, and no cooling it down on the curves. the momentary freedom of the park was like one unlucky drink that shoves a wavering alcoholic off the wagon. I would come out of the park near the soccer field and pause for a moment at the stop sign, wondering if I knew anyone parked out there on the midnight humping strip.
The into first gear, forgetting the cars and letting the beast wind out...thirty-five, forty-five... then into second and wailing through the light at Lincoln Way, not worried about green or red signals, but only some other werewolf loony who might be pulling out, too slowly, to start his own run. not many of these ... and with three lanes on a wide curve, a bike coming hard has plenty of room to get around almost anything ... then into third, the boomer gear, pushing seventy-five and the beginning of a windscream in the ears, a pressure on the eyeballs like diving into water off a high board.
Bent forward, far back on the seat, and a rigid grip on the handlebars as the bike starts jumping and wavering int he wind. Taillights far up ahead coming closer, faster and suddenly—zaaapppp—going up past and leaning down for a curve near the zoo, where the road swings out to sea.
the dunes are flatter here, and on windy days sand blows across the highway, piling up in thick drifts as deadly as any oilslick ... instant loss of control, a crashing, cartwheeling slide and maybe one of those two-inch notices in the paper the next day: "An unidentified motorcyclist was killed last night when he failed to negotiate a turn on highway I."
Indeed... but no sand this time, so the lever goes up into fourth, and not there's not sound except wing. Screw it all the way over, reach through the handlebars to raise the headlight beam, the needle leans down on a hundred, and the wind-burned eyeballs strain to see down the center line, trying to provide a margin for the reflexes.
But the throttle screwed on there is only the barest margin, and no room at all for mistakes. It has to be done right ... and that's when the strange music starts, when you stretch your luck so far that fear becomes exhilaration and vibrates along your arms. You cane barely see at a hundred; the tears blow back so fast that they vaporize before they get to your ears. the only sounds are the wind and a dull roar floating back from the mufflers. You watch the white line and try to lean with it ... howling through a turn to the right, then to the left, and down the long hill to Pacifica... letting off now, watching for cops, but only until the next dark stretch and another few seconds on the edge...the Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over. the other—the living—are those who pushed their control as far as they felt they could handle it, and then pulled back, or slowed down, or did whatever they had to when it came time to choose between Now and Later.
But the edge is still Out there. Or maybe it's In. The association of motorcycles with LSD is no accident of publicity. They are both a means to an end, to the place of definitions. (269-271)"
-Hell's Angels, a Strange and Terrible Saga of the Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs
Jasmine P.
-On my tombstone they will carve, "IT NEVER GOT FAST ENOUGH FOR ME."
-"I haven't found a drug yet that can get you anywhere near as high as a sitting at a desk writing, trying to imagine a story no matter how bizarre it is, [or] going out and getting into the weirdness of reality and doing a little time on the Proud Highway."
-No sympathy for the devil; keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride...and if it occasionally gets a little heavier than what you had in mind, well...maybe chalk it off to forced conscious expansion: Tune in, freak out, get beaten."
-It never got weird enough for me."
-Some may never live, but the crazy never die
-"So we shall let the reader answer this question for himself: who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?"
-"Music has always been a matter of Energy to me, a question of Fuel. Sentimental people call it Inspiration, but what they really mean is Fuel. I have always needed Fuel. I am a serious consumer. On some nights I still believe that a car with the gas needle on empty can run about fifty more miles if you have the right music very loud on the radio."
-"Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!'"
-"Let us toast to animal pleasures, to escapism, to rain on the roof and instant coffee, to unemployment insurance and library cards, to absinthe and good-hearted landlords, to music and warm bodies and contraceptives... and to the "good life", whatever it is and wherever it happens to be."
-"Life has become immeasurably better since I have been forced to stop taking it seriously."
-Sex without love is as hollow and ridiculous as love without sex."
-"I have a theory that the truth is never told during the nine-to-five hours. "
-"All my life, my heart has sought a thing I cannot name.
Remembered line from a long-
forgotten poem"
-"There are times, however, and this is one of them, when even being right feels wrong. What do you say, for instance, about a generation that has been taught that rain is poison and sex is death? If making love might be fatal and if a cool spring breeze on any summer afternoon can turn a crystal blue lake into a puddle of black poison right in front of your eyes, there is not much left except TV and relentless masturbation. It's a strange world. Some people get rich and others eat shit and die."
-"I was not proud of what I had learned but I never doubted that it was worth knowing."
-"We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... and also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls.
Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can."
I-t was obvious that he was a man who marched through life to the rhythms of some drum I would never hear."
-"Freedom is something that dies unless it's used."
-In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught. In a world of thieves, the only final sin is stupidity."
-No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax — This won't hurt"
-"A word to the wise is infuriating. "
-Yesterday's weirdness is tomorrow's reason why."
-For every moment of triumph, for every instance of beauty, many souls must be trampled. "
-"Journalism is not a profession or a trade. It is a cheap catch-all for fuckoffs and misfits -- a false doorway to the backside of life, a filthy piss-ridden little hole nailed off by the building inspector, but just deep enough for a wino to curl up from the sidewalk and masturbate like a chimp in a zoo-cage."
-I miss Nixon. Compared to these Nazis we have in the White House now, Richard Nixon was a flaming liberal."
-Some people will tell you that slow is good – but I’m here to tell you that fast is better. I’ve always believed this, in spite of the trouble it’s caused me. Being shot out of a cannon will always be better than being squeezed out of a tube. That is why God made fast motorcycles, Bubba…"
-"I understand that fear is my friend, but not always. Never turn your back on Fear. It should always be in front of you, like a thing that might have to be killed. My father taught me that, along with a few other things that have kept my life interesting."
-"We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and -- in spite of True Romance magazines -- we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely -- at least, not all the time -- but essentially, and finally, alone. This is what makes your self-respect so important, and I don't see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness."
-Too strange to live, too rare to die!"
-The highways are crowded with people who drive as if their sole purpose in getting behind the wheel is to avenge every wrong done them by man, beast or fate. The only thing that keeps them in line is their fear of death, jail and lawsuits."
-"We cannot expect people to have respect for law and order until we teach respect to those we have entrusted to enforce those laws."
-Maybe there is no Heaven. Or maybe this is all pure gibberish—a product of the demented imagination of a lazy drunken hillbilly with a heart full of hate who has found a way to live out where the real winds blow—to sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whisky, and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested . . . Res ipsa loquitur. Let the good times roll."
-"You better take care of me Lord, if you don't you're gonna have me on your hands. "
-It gave me a strange feeling, and the rest of that night I didn’t say much, but merely sat there and drank, trying to decide if I was getting older and wiser, or just plain old."
-"Fear is a healthy instinct, not a sign of weakness. It is a natural self-defense mechanism that is common to felines, wolves, hyenas, and most humans. Even fruit bats know fear, and I salute them for it. If you think the world is weird now, imagine how weird it would be if wild beasts had no fear."
-I've always considered writing the most hateful kind of work. I suspect it's a bit like fucking, which is only fun for amateurs. Old whores don't do much giggling."
-"Hallucinations are bad enough. But after awhile you learn to cope with things like seeing your dead grandmother crawling up your leg with a knife in her teeth. Most acid fanciers can handle this sort of thing. But nobody can handle that other trip-the possibility that any freak with $1.98 can walk into the Circus-Circus and suddenly appear in the sky over downtown Las Vegas twelve times the size of God, howling anything that comes into his head. No, this is not a good town for psychedelic drugs."
-"The difference between the right word and the nearly right word is the difference between lightning and lightning bug."
-Sane is rich and powerful. Insane is wrong and poor and weak. The rich are free, the poor are put in cages. Res Ipsa Loquitur, amen. Mahalo."
-Going to trial with a lawyer who considers your whole life-style a Crime in Progress is not a happy prospect.
-If I'd written all the truth I knew for the past ten years, about 600 people - including me - would be rotting in prison cells from Rio to Seattle today. Absolute truth is a very rare and dangerous commodity in the context of professional journalism.
-No man is so foolish but he may sometimes give another good counsel, and no man so wise that he may not easily err if he takes no other counsel than his own. He that is taught only by himself has a fool for a master.
-"We are going to punish somebody for this attack, but just who or where will be blown to smithereens for it is hard to say. Maybe Afghanistan, maybe Pakistan or Irag, or possibly all three at once. Who knows? Not even the Generals in what remains of the Pentagon or the New York papers calling for war seem to know who did it or where to look for them.
This is going to be a very expensive war, and Victory is not guaranteed--for anyone, and certainly not for a baffled little creep like George W. Bush. All he knows is that his father started the war a long time ago, and that he, the goofy child President, has been chosen by Fate and the global Oil industry to finish it off."
-"We are turning into a nation of whimpering slaves to Fear—fear of war, fear of poverty, fear of random terrorism, fear of getting down-sized or fired because of the plunging economy, fear of getting evicted for bad debts or suddenly getting locked up in a military detention camp on vague charges of being a Terrorist sympathizer."
-There may be flies on you and me, but there are no flies on Jesus."
-As things stand now, I am going to be a writer. I'm not sure that I'm going to be a good one or even a self-supporting one, but until the dark thumb of fate presses me to the dust and says 'you are nothing', I will be a writer."
-"I have no taste for either poverty or honest labor, so writing is the only recourse left for me"
-I shared a vagrant optimism that some of us were making real progress, that we had taken an honest road, and that the best of us would inevitably make it over the top. At the same time, I felt that the life we were leading was a lost cause, that we were all actor, kidding ourselves on a senseless odyssey. It was the tension between those two poles - a restless idealism on one hand and a sense of impending doom on the other - that kept me going. "
-"We came out here to find the American Dream, and now that we're right in the vortex you want to quit ... You must realize that we've found the main nerve."
"I know," he said. "That's what gives me the Fear.'"
-"The scene I had just witnessed (a couple making love in the ocean) brought back a lot of memories – not of things I had done but of things I had failed to do, wasted hours and frustrated moments and opportunities forever lost because time had eaten so much of my life and I would never get it back. I envied Yeoman and felt sorry for myself at the same time, because I had seen him in a moment that made all my happiness seem dull."
-Weird behavior is natural in smart children, like curiosity is to a kitten."
-Anything worth doing, is worth doing right"
-A lot of blood has gone under the bridge since then, and we have all learned a hell of a lot about the realities of Politics in America. Even the politicians have learned – but, as usual, the politicians are much slower than the people they want to lead."
-I'm a relatively respectable citizen. Multiple felon perhaps, but certainly not dangerous."
-But our trip was different. It was a classic affirmation of everything right and true and decent in the national character. It was a gross, physical salute to the fantastic possibilities of life in this country-but only for those with true grit. And we were chock full of that."
-"I'm sure I must have sounded like a fool and a borderline psychotic most of that year, when I talked to people who thought they knew who and where they were at the time ... but looking back, I see that if I wasn't Right, at least I wasn't Wrong, and in that context I was forced to learn from my confusion ... which took awhile, and there's still no proof that what I finally learned was Right, but there's not a hell of a lot of evidence to show that I'm Wrong either."
-I felt a strange tightness coming over me, and I reacted instinctively – for the first time in a long, long while – by slipping my notebook into my belt and reaching down to take off my watch. The first thing to go in a street fight is your watch, and once you’ve lost a few, you develop a certain instinct that lets you know when it’s time to get the thing off your wrist and into a safe pocket."
-"All we have to do is get out and vote, while it's still legal, and we will wash those crooked warmongers out of the White House."
-"He had come so far from himself that I don't think he knew who he was anymore."
-...To show man the best that is in him; not the most appealing or the most amusing or even the most realistic - but the best, which is rare and common and understood by all of us in all our different ways ... to include all the others - the meanest, the cheapest, the most cowardly - as a background and a foreground for something better ... to dig in the old scum that covers us all and find something that might be a tool for a man who would use it to fashion his self-respect in a world where all those tools are buried or broken or illegal ... and finally to tell it as it is, trying to see it all and especially the best, for to miss that part is to shovel shit on men who were born in quicksand and find no novelty in the heave and smell of doom." "
-If you can't make yourself understood by your friends, you'll be in trouble when your enemies come for you."
-If you're going to be crazy, you have to get paid for it or else you're going to be locked up."
-Like most of the others, I was a seeker, a mover, a malcontent, and at times a stupid hell-raiser. I was never idle long enough to do much thinking, but I felt somehow that my instincts were right. I shared a vagrant optimism that some of us were making real progress, that we had taken an honest road, and that the best of us would inevitably make it over the top. At the same time, I shared a dark suspicion that the life we were leading was a lost cause, that we were all actors, kidding ourselves along on a senseless odyssey. It was the tension between these two poles--a restless idealism on one hand and a sense of impending doom on the other--that kept me going."
-So much for Objective Journalism. Don't bother to look for it here--not under any byline of mine; or anyone else I can think of. With the possible exception of things like box scores, race results, and stock market tabulations, there is no such thing as Objective Journalism. The phrase itself is a pompous contradiction in terms."
-from Hell's Angels...One of the worst incidents of that era caused no complaints at all: this was a sort of good-natured firepower demonstration, which occurred one Sunday morning about three-thirty. For reasons that were never made clear, I blew out my back windows with five blasts of a 12 gauge shotgun, followed moments later by six rounds from a .44 Magnum. It was a prolonged outburst of heavy firing, drunken laughter, and crashing glass. Yet the neighbors reacted with total silence. For a while I assumed that some freakish wind pocket had absorbed all the noise and carried it out to sea, but after my eviction I learned otherwise. Every one of the shots had been duly recorded on the gossip log. Another tenant in the building told me the landlord was convinced, by all the tales he'd heard, that the interior of my apartment was reduced to rubble by orgies, brawls, fires, and wanton shooting. He had even heard stories about motorcycles being driven in and out the front door.
-"One of God's own prototypes. Some kind of high powered mutant never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die."
Conclusion:
The Wave Speech
"Strange memories on this nervous night in Las Vegas. Five years later? Six? It seems like a lifetime, or at least a Main Era—the kind of peak that never comes again. San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run . . . but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant. . . .
History is hard to know, because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of “history” it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole generation comes to a head in a long fine flash, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time—and which never explain, in retrospect, what actually happened.
My central memory of that time seems to hang on one or five or maybe forty nights—or very early mornings—when I left the Fillmore half-crazy and, instead of going home, aimed the big 650 Lightning across the Bay Bridge at a hundred miles an hour wearing L. L. Bean shorts and a Butte sheepherder's jacket . . . booming through the Treasure Island tunnel at the lights of Oakland and Berkeley and Richmond, not quite sure which turn-off to take when I got to the other end (always stalling at the toll-gate, too twisted to find neutral while I fumbled for change) . . . but being absolutely certain that no matter which way I went I would come to a place where people were just as high and wild as I was: No doubt at all about that. . . .
There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Golden Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda. . . . You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. . . .
And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting—on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. . . .
So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark—that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back."
-Fear and Loathing in Las Veas: A Savage Journey into the Heart of the American Dream
The Edge Speech
Months later, when I rarely saw the Angels, I still had the legacy of the big machine—four hundred pounds of chrome and deep red noise to take out on the Coast highway and cut loose at three in the morning, when all the cops were lurking over on the 101. My first crash had wrecked the bike completely and it took several months to have it rebuilt. After that i decided to tide it differently: I would stop pushing my luck on curves, always wear a helmet and try to keep within range of the nearest speed limit...my insurance had already been canceled and my driver's license was hanging by a thread.
So it was always at night, like a werewolf, that I would take the thing out for an honest run down the coast. I would start in Golden Gate park, thinking only to run a few long curves to clear my head...but in a matter of minutes I'd be out at the beach with the sound of the engine in my ears, the surf booming up on the sea wall and a fine empty road stretching all the way down to Santa Cruz...not even a gas station in the whole seventy miles; the only public light along the way is an all-night diner down around Rockaway Beach.
There was no helmet on those nights, no speed limit, and no cooling it down on the curves. the momentary freedom of the park was like one unlucky drink that shoves a wavering alcoholic off the wagon. I would come out of the park near the soccer field and pause for a moment at the stop sign, wondering if I knew anyone parked out there on the midnight humping strip.
The into first gear, forgetting the cars and letting the beast wind out...thirty-five, forty-five... then into second and wailing through the light at Lincoln Way, not worried about green or red signals, but only some other werewolf loony who might be pulling out, too slowly, to start his own run. not many of these ... and with three lanes on a wide curve, a bike coming hard has plenty of room to get around almost anything ... then into third, the boomer gear, pushing seventy-five and the beginning of a windscream in the ears, a pressure on the eyeballs like diving into water off a high board.
Bent forward, far back on the seat, and a rigid grip on the handlebars as the bike starts jumping and wavering int he wind. Taillights far up ahead coming closer, faster and suddenly—zaaapppp—going up past and leaning down for a curve near the zoo, where the road swings out to sea.
the dunes are flatter here, and on windy days sand blows across the highway, piling up in thick drifts as deadly as any oilslick ... instant loss of control, a crashing, cartwheeling slide and maybe one of those two-inch notices in the paper the next day: "An unidentified motorcyclist was killed last night when he failed to negotiate a turn on highway I."
Indeed... but no sand this time, so the lever goes up into fourth, and not there's not sound except wing. Screw it all the way over, reach through the handlebars to raise the headlight beam, the needle leans down on a hundred, and the wind-burned eyeballs strain to see down the center line, trying to provide a margin for the reflexes.
But the throttle screwed on there is only the barest margin, and no room at all for mistakes. It has to be done right ... and that's when the strange music starts, when you stretch your luck so far that fear becomes exhilaration and vibrates along your arms. You cane barely see at a hundred; the tears blow back so fast that they vaporize before they get to your ears. the only sounds are the wind and a dull roar floating back from the mufflers. You watch the white line and try to lean with it ... howling through a turn to the right, then to the left, and down the long hill to Pacifica... letting off now, watching for cops, but only until the next dark stretch and another few seconds on the edge...the Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over. the other—the living—are those who pushed their control as far as they felt they could handle it, and then pulled back, or slowed down, or did whatever they had to when it came time to choose between Now and Later.
But the edge is still Out there. Or maybe it's In. The association of motorcycles with LSD is no accident of publicity. They are both a means to an end, to the place of definitions. (269-271)"
-Hell's Angels, a Strange and Terrible Saga of the Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs
Jasmine P.
January 30, 2010
De-odor or Do-odor
Warning: I discuss my disgusting medical problems to get a point across. I generally call it 'medical shit' or 'what I had surgery for'. It's why I am now on antibiotics and have painkillers because it causes me a lot of discomfort. I wrote about extensively last year when I had my surgery, if you don't want to read about my medical crap feel free to close the tab or window. I'm being nice because I didn't give a warning the last time I described this crap.
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Not too long ago I read a thing about how when Matthew McConaughey announced somewhere that he didn't used deodorant that Axe sent him a case of their shit. I keep seeing here and there that little tidbit of information, then people's disgust of his supposed body odor.
That said, I haven't used deodorant in about two years and I don't think other people notice. I can't use deodorant even if I wanted to and I'll explain why. My hidradenitis is located in a few locations. I have them and surgically removed patches of skin underneath both of my arms. It's open skin that needs to be covered with gauze daily, or else pus and disgusting gets on my clothes and sticks to the wounds making them hurt when I go to take a shower. My second set are all around my vagina, on the labia and now down in the buttocks which makes going to the bathroom suck I can't bandage them properly and am in varying amounts of discomfort because of this. I do my best and try not to go into too much detail because it's gross. I don't really care about personal, it's just disgusting and I do want people to continue to talk to me.
As I said, and with the point of this, I don't wear deodorant. I haven't since about a year prior to my surgery, so 1.5 years at this point. The only time my odor has been brought up has been less me and more the disgusting puss, bile, and whatever else is pouring from my bandaged wounds on a daily basis. I have asked my roommate about my odor, she says she doesn't smell anything. Nobody around me has told me my odor is all that offensive. Not my body odor and not the stench from my wounds, and that can be really rank. Back in September when I had a new abscess opened, it was causing me a lot of pain and discomfort, that stank. It was like rotting eggs, and it was inside me, underneath my skin. Fucking horrible is what it was. I take one shower a day, in the mornings so the bandages are good for whatever I have to do for the day. The hidradenitis hurts like a mofo after about ten hours, so I have to shower daily. The only times I may skip bathing are when I don't go out and it's getting late and I don't want to waste bandages. I hurt when I do that, so it's not often. Not bathing actually hurts me, I think the daily shower does help my cause, and the fact that I don't wear deodorant. But nobody says anything about my odor. I notice it, but I'm always around it, I know what it smells like, I know what to look for. I also know what my own odor smells like, I know the difference. My own odor isn't that bad.
One's natural body odor isn't inherently a bad thing. I like the way men smell, their body odor and their cologne. It's not like I want them to put on sweat as a cologne, but average day to day odor isn't bad. In extreme cases then body odor is rank. If people don't bathe normally like they should, if it's an oppressively hot day, yes, they should take a god damned shower and wear deodorant. But people are fine without it. Not all people emit loads of offensive odor, I'm not saying the world should drop the use of deodorant all together, I'm just saying it's not that noticeable if people aren't wearing any.
On the note of people and odors, I fucking swear, last Sunday there was a woman in the coffee shop who smelled like a gatdamn port-a-potty. That was rank. I mean, did she put on Eau du Biffy that morning?
Jasmine P.
Important links
Matthew McConaughey on (1)not using (2)deodorant - two links
Wikipdeia on Hidradenitis suppurativa (warning, kinda gross)
My blog about surgery and hidradenitis (ranty, angry and gross)
-----
Not too long ago I read a thing about how when Matthew McConaughey announced somewhere that he didn't used deodorant that Axe sent him a case of their shit. I keep seeing here and there that little tidbit of information, then people's disgust of his supposed body odor.
That said, I haven't used deodorant in about two years and I don't think other people notice. I can't use deodorant even if I wanted to and I'll explain why. My hidradenitis is located in a few locations. I have them and surgically removed patches of skin underneath both of my arms. It's open skin that needs to be covered with gauze daily, or else pus and disgusting gets on my clothes and sticks to the wounds making them hurt when I go to take a shower. My second set are all around my vagina, on the labia and now down in the buttocks which makes going to the bathroom suck I can't bandage them properly and am in varying amounts of discomfort because of this. I do my best and try not to go into too much detail because it's gross. I don't really care about personal, it's just disgusting and I do want people to continue to talk to me.
As I said, and with the point of this, I don't wear deodorant. I haven't since about a year prior to my surgery, so 1.5 years at this point. The only time my odor has been brought up has been less me and more the disgusting puss, bile, and whatever else is pouring from my bandaged wounds on a daily basis. I have asked my roommate about my odor, she says she doesn't smell anything. Nobody around me has told me my odor is all that offensive. Not my body odor and not the stench from my wounds, and that can be really rank. Back in September when I had a new abscess opened, it was causing me a lot of pain and discomfort, that stank. It was like rotting eggs, and it was inside me, underneath my skin. Fucking horrible is what it was. I take one shower a day, in the mornings so the bandages are good for whatever I have to do for the day. The hidradenitis hurts like a mofo after about ten hours, so I have to shower daily. The only times I may skip bathing are when I don't go out and it's getting late and I don't want to waste bandages. I hurt when I do that, so it's not often. Not bathing actually hurts me, I think the daily shower does help my cause, and the fact that I don't wear deodorant. But nobody says anything about my odor. I notice it, but I'm always around it, I know what it smells like, I know what to look for. I also know what my own odor smells like, I know the difference. My own odor isn't that bad.
One's natural body odor isn't inherently a bad thing. I like the way men smell, their body odor and their cologne. It's not like I want them to put on sweat as a cologne, but average day to day odor isn't bad. In extreme cases then body odor is rank. If people don't bathe normally like they should, if it's an oppressively hot day, yes, they should take a god damned shower and wear deodorant. But people are fine without it. Not all people emit loads of offensive odor, I'm not saying the world should drop the use of deodorant all together, I'm just saying it's not that noticeable if people aren't wearing any.
On the note of people and odors, I fucking swear, last Sunday there was a woman in the coffee shop who smelled like a gatdamn port-a-potty. That was rank. I mean, did she put on Eau du Biffy that morning?
Jasmine P.
Important links
Matthew McConaughey on (1)not using (2)deodorant - two links
Wikipdeia on Hidradenitis suppurativa (warning, kinda gross)
My blog about surgery and hidradenitis (ranty, angry and gross)
January 29, 2010
I Talk About S-E-X!! (Scandalous)
I'm reading an article talking about why a new edition of The diary of Anne Frank has been pulled from the reading curriculum of a Culpepper County school. They bring up Frank talking about her vagina and sex as the reasons why a parent didn't want their child to study this book. I give the school some credit in just pulling this edition from the study curriculum and not from the system entirely. It is still available to find in the library, which is better than what I normally read in censorship issues.
A disclaimer before I go off the topic of the story, I've never read it, I don't want to. The Holocaust was a depressing era of the collective human history, just like slavery is, specific to me, America slavery of Africans, and the Soviet Union. I respect what the book is and why it was written, maybe one day I will read it, until then I speak on behalf of text I have never first hand experienced.
That said, going off my sex education classes, male genitalia was described in use and anatomically shown by the time I was in eighth grade. I knew the basics of how things worked and that was all described in a scientific and very 70s fashion, because for some reason, newer educational films haven't been made. That said, I don't understand why or how the book in 'too sexual' for an eighth grade class. They've have sex-ed since 5th grade, many have older siblings who have told them things, and most have probably seen porn by that age, or mainstream movies which sometimes have explicit-ish amounts of sex in them. How is real account of someone experiencing what all other girls are going through too graphic for their children? The way I see it, it shows the readers that they are not the only ones to ask certain questions. They may share the same criticisms of their genitalia as some kid who lived 60 years before them, before their parents even. How is something that wasn't written to necessarily to be sexually arousing a negative? It was just her thoughts and her experiences with her body. Everybody questions their body at some point, explores and finally puts a mirror between their legs to see what things look like. If not everybody, than some, probably many, but the point I'm trying to make is teenagers are trying to understand what is going on. To see someone else try similar things, or their thoughts on the same things is not a negative. It's not salacious, it just is, they are the facts of her life for the world to read.
I think that what this parent was doing was a disservice to their child, the blog (second link below) sounds like it was a son who apparently was disgusted by reading a description of a vagina, or a description of mestruation. Which ever. By not reading the book, or having an honest, real life experience with it the smoke and mirrors are still there. In reading someone going through the thoughts of learning their body it is more useful than watching 30 and 40 year old videos about hip kids like them going to class with a hard one, or getting a period, or the other joys of puberty. That kid will have less of an understanding about sex because the technical lexicon used to educate is annoying to dig through. The more relaxed vocabulary that Frank used in the book is probably more akin to what someone between the ages of 12 and 14 would more likely use, time and slang aside.
Along with that, I think that the mystification of sex is a disservice to maturing teenagers everywhere. It is such a taboo that parents give cutesy names to sexual organs, which in turn makes explaining the science behind it more awkward. Calling it a 'pee-pee' is stupid, a penis or vagina is not pee. Twat, cunt, dick, prick, pee-pee, so forth and so on are not useful, they're not correct terms for things. They're stupid euphemisms that parents hide behind when they're too afraid of breaking their child's fragile mind to give things real names. The less special you make something the less a kid will notice. I've seen it first hand, I used the word 'frig' in front of my sister. She didn't notice until my brother told me not to say it, then she noticed the word she didn't know and assumed it was something naughty. That's not how it goes, if it's something common and every day than your kid will hopefully act less stupid about when they're older.
After using proper names for things, parents need to get used to trying to answer the 'hard' questions. The child favorite, 'how are babies made' or 'where did I come from' are not that hard to answer. "When a man and a woman have sex, there is the possibility that a baby will be made, and grow inside the woman's body for nine months, until it is pushed out. Sex is when the penis enters the vagina, it is the primary reason for having each, to make more babies and people." It's simple, not really arousing explains it. Details provided as questions are asked. It makes more sense than the stork bullshit, and the 'love makes a baby' is a lie that shouldn't be perpetuated. To make it more compassionate, you could say love and caring is involved, but what I said up there is a template, it's simple and described in a way how a baby is born.
By giving a child the truth, they learn they can trust you better. What the parents gets out of telling the kids the truth, simple or complex language aside, they are helping their kids understand things. Many children crave knowledge, the answer to the whys and hows of their life. Giving them a real answer is much more beneficial because it is a safe environment to learn something. You are giving them the tools to learn things the right way. I was more bothered when my mother didn't give me a real explanation to things then when she gave it to me straight. I may not have liked the answer, but her honest was nice. I knew I could trust her that much more than hearing one thing and being taught another.
Our society makes sex out to be such a secret, an exclusive club that most adults experience that people have issues talking about it. Let your kid know that masturbation is all right, just to clean up afterward. Explain to them why they shouldn't have sex too early, let them ask you questions. Sex shouldn't be a secret. It is natural, most living creatures experience it to some degree so lying about it doesn't make much sense. It's not inherently dangerous, but not respecting what has the potential to come from sexual intercourse is.
Jasmine P.
Important Links:
Article - Blog Response
A disclaimer before I go off the topic of the story, I've never read it, I don't want to. The Holocaust was a depressing era of the collective human history, just like slavery is, specific to me, America slavery of Africans, and the Soviet Union. I respect what the book is and why it was written, maybe one day I will read it, until then I speak on behalf of text I have never first hand experienced.
That said, going off my sex education classes, male genitalia was described in use and anatomically shown by the time I was in eighth grade. I knew the basics of how things worked and that was all described in a scientific and very 70s fashion, because for some reason, newer educational films haven't been made. That said, I don't understand why or how the book in 'too sexual' for an eighth grade class. They've have sex-ed since 5th grade, many have older siblings who have told them things, and most have probably seen porn by that age, or mainstream movies which sometimes have explicit-ish amounts of sex in them. How is real account of someone experiencing what all other girls are going through too graphic for their children? The way I see it, it shows the readers that they are not the only ones to ask certain questions. They may share the same criticisms of their genitalia as some kid who lived 60 years before them, before their parents even. How is something that wasn't written to necessarily to be sexually arousing a negative? It was just her thoughts and her experiences with her body. Everybody questions their body at some point, explores and finally puts a mirror between their legs to see what things look like. If not everybody, than some, probably many, but the point I'm trying to make is teenagers are trying to understand what is going on. To see someone else try similar things, or their thoughts on the same things is not a negative. It's not salacious, it just is, they are the facts of her life for the world to read.
I think that what this parent was doing was a disservice to their child, the blog (second link below) sounds like it was a son who apparently was disgusted by reading a description of a vagina, or a description of mestruation. Which ever. By not reading the book, or having an honest, real life experience with it the smoke and mirrors are still there. In reading someone going through the thoughts of learning their body it is more useful than watching 30 and 40 year old videos about hip kids like them going to class with a hard one, or getting a period, or the other joys of puberty. That kid will have less of an understanding about sex because the technical lexicon used to educate is annoying to dig through. The more relaxed vocabulary that Frank used in the book is probably more akin to what someone between the ages of 12 and 14 would more likely use, time and slang aside.
Along with that, I think that the mystification of sex is a disservice to maturing teenagers everywhere. It is such a taboo that parents give cutesy names to sexual organs, which in turn makes explaining the science behind it more awkward. Calling it a 'pee-pee' is stupid, a penis or vagina is not pee. Twat, cunt, dick, prick, pee-pee, so forth and so on are not useful, they're not correct terms for things. They're stupid euphemisms that parents hide behind when they're too afraid of breaking their child's fragile mind to give things real names. The less special you make something the less a kid will notice. I've seen it first hand, I used the word 'frig' in front of my sister. She didn't notice until my brother told me not to say it, then she noticed the word she didn't know and assumed it was something naughty. That's not how it goes, if it's something common and every day than your kid will hopefully act less stupid about when they're older.
After using proper names for things, parents need to get used to trying to answer the 'hard' questions. The child favorite, 'how are babies made' or 'where did I come from' are not that hard to answer. "When a man and a woman have sex, there is the possibility that a baby will be made, and grow inside the woman's body for nine months, until it is pushed out. Sex is when the penis enters the vagina, it is the primary reason for having each, to make more babies and people." It's simple, not really arousing explains it. Details provided as questions are asked. It makes more sense than the stork bullshit, and the 'love makes a baby' is a lie that shouldn't be perpetuated. To make it more compassionate, you could say love and caring is involved, but what I said up there is a template, it's simple and described in a way how a baby is born.
By giving a child the truth, they learn they can trust you better. What the parents gets out of telling the kids the truth, simple or complex language aside, they are helping their kids understand things. Many children crave knowledge, the answer to the whys and hows of their life. Giving them a real answer is much more beneficial because it is a safe environment to learn something. You are giving them the tools to learn things the right way. I was more bothered when my mother didn't give me a real explanation to things then when she gave it to me straight. I may not have liked the answer, but her honest was nice. I knew I could trust her that much more than hearing one thing and being taught another.
Our society makes sex out to be such a secret, an exclusive club that most adults experience that people have issues talking about it. Let your kid know that masturbation is all right, just to clean up afterward. Explain to them why they shouldn't have sex too early, let them ask you questions. Sex shouldn't be a secret. It is natural, most living creatures experience it to some degree so lying about it doesn't make much sense. It's not inherently dangerous, but not respecting what has the potential to come from sexual intercourse is.
Jasmine P.
Important Links:
Article - Blog Response
January 24, 2010
On Having A Boyfriend, and why I Haven't Had One
On Friday I updated my Facebook status to 'man, Facebook really wants me to find a man' to which a cousin of mine, who is 8 months older than I am inquired to if I ever had a boyfriend, I replied no, he asked why, I ignored him. He somehow inferred that I was a lesbian, to be more specific, he was surprised that 'I didn't like boys' to which I explained that is not the case, and he was wrong for inferring that. I explained that I've have and have had friends whom were male, but not fulfilling the title of 'boyfriend'. I continued by saying I decided to ignore the previous question. In all honesty, I don't know why guys don't like me enough to date me. I didn't say that last sentence, he replied along the lines of seeing why I didn't have a boyfriend. I told him to enlighten me, since he apparently knows so much, which brings me to here.
I don't really care for bringing my lack of a love life to attention unless I'm ranting about it. I didn't want to really have a conversation about it with a cousin I barely know. I was also tired of his writing as if he doesn't know the fucking language. I don't really know why he writes like he doesn't know proper grammar and sentence structure, so I tend to ignore him on Facebook until he decides to say something to me, which was sadly the case this time. This isn't the worst written post from him, but he's had some that just made my brothers and myself wonder what the fuck happened when he got older.
Brenton, my cousin, is 21, has a kid, is also an uncle, and is ignorantly proud of having not finished college, because he now has a family. His sister also never finished college before having a kid. My family values education so we don't think he should be so proud of having a kid and barely attained a college education, not even a 2-year partial degree thing. He's proud of his "baby's mama" and joined the army to appease her father. I can't remember if he got married. As far as I'm concerned, my cousin has not acquired anything to be able to criticise my life nore my lackthereof of a significant other. He only has a few months over me, which isn't enough for me to really respect his opinion. I humor him, in my mind because he'll ask me the same sort of question every few months, I respond once or twice, then I ignore him. He has some obsession with my having a boyfriend. Part of me does, but I have better things to do than wait for someone else to 'make me happy'.
I've gone 21 years on my own, I've really only wanted someone for the past 6 years. I haven't hd one for a few reasons: in high school any guy I was interested in was gay or taken. In college that has persisted, but I have attempted to pursue guys which failed each time. Now I'm content on my own, it's only when I start PMS-ing that I want somebody. It gets annoying, but it doesn't last long until I'm content to being back on my own. I love me, I worship me on a daily basis and I make myself the before fucking food ever. I feel like I'm bragging, and I probably am, when I tell people the awesome things I make for myself. Cornish hens, pan-cooked boneless pork ribs, steak, pots of chicken noodle soup. I decided if I don't make awesome things for myself, why does anyone I meet from here on in deserve things I don't give myself, or those types of things.
I'm on my own and I'm well enough as is. I have plenty of friends, I have a bunch of guy friends so it works out. I get them to do things for me, I pay them back. I'm around guys in general all the time that helps me because I can't stand being around girls all the time. Hell, my roommate this year, Megan, she weirds me out a little. she has some obsession with talking to me every time I walk in, EVERY TIME! If I open the door to the bathroom she's there sometimes, wanting to talk. She'll watch me cook, we're not even talking, and she'll just watch me cook. It's kind of creepy. I don't get it. I don't have anything interesting to say, but she'll be there. I've no problem talking, I generally talk most people's ears off, but it's an odd situation that kind of makes my skin crawl. It's like she doesn't have social skills, which could be stunted actually as she is an only child, but yeah, it's weird.
I just creeped myself out, so let me get around to my reasons on why I have never had a boyfriend. First, I can be quite loud, obnoxious and brash. I talk like I'm one of the guys, I'm vulgar and can be quite abrasive. I may not seem as feminine as I really am I considere myself more or less the best damn Drag Queen ever because if I was a guy I think I'd be a drag queen, if not that then I'd be gay. Second, I'm overweight. Why would anyone want to date an overweight chick who never flaunts or oversized assets. Hell, I only draw attention to my chest when I'm making fun of it. They're like painful, natural air bags, flotation devices, I can use my chest as a shelf to hold things, which I have done before. My chest can enter a room before my feet do. I've got more, but I have a large chest that I cover up because it's not just large, it's flabby and I'm fat. Third, I have too many guy friends. I said before I kind of act like I'm one of the guys, well it doesn't help that most of my friends are guys. I prefer being around or talking to guy. My best friend is a guy, most of the fencers are guys. I assume that it either looks like I'm dating one of my guy friends, or guys think that a friend of mine will 'steal me away' during a relationship. Fourth, I value intelligence to some degree, and displaying it. It takes more than brightly colored feathers and a skillful dance to attract this mate, you have to show you have a brain that's useful for something. Yes, I love an attractive body, few people don't, I mean, who wants to look at someone they consider ugly, fuck society's perception of what's attractive. What I really like is a brain, someone I can have an intelligent conversation with, but also knows how to have a great stupid conversation. They don't have to know all the things I know, it's better if they don't and they can make something I don't get understandable. We can both bring something to the table, and of course some mutual things, but who really gets in a good relationship with someone they don't have something in common with. Too many guys run around acting like chickens with their heads cut off. Being intelligent is one thing, displaying it is another beast all together. Fifth, being able to take my bullshit. I go back and forth all the time from being sane to being ridiculous, so being able to deal with me and my bullshit is pretty much a necessary. That's a given about any sort of relationship if you really thing about it. I'm a vain son of a bitch sometimes, in that vanity is intelligence, now just physical attributes.
I realized how that last paragraph was written switched mid-way through, but ehh, it all still gets the point I was intending across, I think. I'm too ridiculous for anyone, and that's why I'm alone. I also figure that why rush into something with someone I either barely know, or don't really like. Someone will accept my ridiculous ass at some point, and then who knows. Until then I fly solo, paralleling people every now and again before I'm back on my own.
*edit*
So, the saga of idiocy continues. The pirate outfit he's talking about is simple. I was dressed in a striped red and gold tunic-ish shirt, white skirt and had a scarf in my hair for a banquet I went to. I was at my university's sport club banquet as one of the representatives for the fencing club, I realized with a saber in my hand I kind of looked like a pirate and thought the picture was fun. My cousin on the other hand thought it was lame. He says I have an attitude because I act like I was raised educated, I'm sorry* if acting like I have common sense is offensive to you, but fuck off. Really. What the fuck does he mean by presentable? Wearing hoochie skirts and low cut shirt? Wearing what's popular? Fat people don't look good in that shit, and it's shit. Fuck fads, I work with clay twice a week and various drawing supplies the rest of the week. I don't have time for that shit I'm function over fashion. I don't consider 'feminine' clothing to be all that functional, which is why I stray away from it usually. But, when I need to dress nicer than I normally do, I have nicer things, but if I know I'll be using something that stains and messes up good clothing why should I wear it? He needs to stop focusing on my life and get a job and an education and better himself. He's not from skid-row, he's from a damn suburb of Cleveland, OH, an upper-middle class suburb at that. ['Skid Row' Little Shop of Horrors Watch the first 30 seconds]. Learning how to type properly he can do from home. Trying to decipher his last message I realized it's all one sentence with no period at the end. My ten year old sister can write better than him, and she's a gat damn kid 12 years his junior.
*Edit 2* My retarded cousin has shown a lack of reading comprehension and straight up ignorance. I can't talk to this fool. I'd rather be poor and fucking homeless than to go to him with his normal like of 'girls n cash n cars'. I'm about to drop him from facebook. He does nothing positive for me and my decided upon life style.
Jasmine P.
* Not sorry in the least.
I don't really care for bringing my lack of a love life to attention unless I'm ranting about it. I didn't want to really have a conversation about it with a cousin I barely know. I was also tired of his writing as if he doesn't know the fucking language. I don't really know why he writes like he doesn't know proper grammar and sentence structure, so I tend to ignore him on Facebook until he decides to say something to me, which was sadly the case this time. This isn't the worst written post from him, but he's had some that just made my brothers and myself wonder what the fuck happened when he got older.
Brenton, my cousin, is 21, has a kid, is also an uncle, and is ignorantly proud of having not finished college, because he now has a family. His sister also never finished college before having a kid. My family values education so we don't think he should be so proud of having a kid and barely attained a college education, not even a 2-year partial degree thing. He's proud of his "baby's mama" and joined the army to appease her father. I can't remember if he got married. As far as I'm concerned, my cousin has not acquired anything to be able to criticise my life nore my lackthereof of a significant other. He only has a few months over me, which isn't enough for me to really respect his opinion. I humor him, in my mind because he'll ask me the same sort of question every few months, I respond once or twice, then I ignore him. He has some obsession with my having a boyfriend. Part of me does, but I have better things to do than wait for someone else to 'make me happy'.
I've gone 21 years on my own, I've really only wanted someone for the past 6 years. I haven't hd one for a few reasons: in high school any guy I was interested in was gay or taken. In college that has persisted, but I have attempted to pursue guys which failed each time. Now I'm content on my own, it's only when I start PMS-ing that I want somebody. It gets annoying, but it doesn't last long until I'm content to being back on my own. I love me, I worship me on a daily basis and I make myself the before fucking food ever. I feel like I'm bragging, and I probably am, when I tell people the awesome things I make for myself. Cornish hens, pan-cooked boneless pork ribs, steak, pots of chicken noodle soup. I decided if I don't make awesome things for myself, why does anyone I meet from here on in deserve things I don't give myself, or those types of things.
I'm on my own and I'm well enough as is. I have plenty of friends, I have a bunch of guy friends so it works out. I get them to do things for me, I pay them back. I'm around guys in general all the time that helps me because I can't stand being around girls all the time. Hell, my roommate this year, Megan, she weirds me out a little. she has some obsession with talking to me every time I walk in, EVERY TIME! If I open the door to the bathroom she's there sometimes, wanting to talk. She'll watch me cook, we're not even talking, and she'll just watch me cook. It's kind of creepy. I don't get it. I don't have anything interesting to say, but she'll be there. I've no problem talking, I generally talk most people's ears off, but it's an odd situation that kind of makes my skin crawl. It's like she doesn't have social skills, which could be stunted actually as she is an only child, but yeah, it's weird.
I just creeped myself out, so let me get around to my reasons on why I have never had a boyfriend. First, I can be quite loud, obnoxious and brash. I talk like I'm one of the guys, I'm vulgar and can be quite abrasive. I may not seem as feminine as I really am I considere myself more or less the best damn Drag Queen ever because if I was a guy I think I'd be a drag queen, if not that then I'd be gay. Second, I'm overweight. Why would anyone want to date an overweight chick who never flaunts or oversized assets. Hell, I only draw attention to my chest when I'm making fun of it. They're like painful, natural air bags, flotation devices, I can use my chest as a shelf to hold things, which I have done before. My chest can enter a room before my feet do. I've got more, but I have a large chest that I cover up because it's not just large, it's flabby and I'm fat. Third, I have too many guy friends. I said before I kind of act like I'm one of the guys, well it doesn't help that most of my friends are guys. I prefer being around or talking to guy. My best friend is a guy, most of the fencers are guys. I assume that it either looks like I'm dating one of my guy friends, or guys think that a friend of mine will 'steal me away' during a relationship. Fourth, I value intelligence to some degree, and displaying it. It takes more than brightly colored feathers and a skillful dance to attract this mate, you have to show you have a brain that's useful for something. Yes, I love an attractive body, few people don't, I mean, who wants to look at someone they consider ugly, fuck society's perception of what's attractive. What I really like is a brain, someone I can have an intelligent conversation with, but also knows how to have a great stupid conversation. They don't have to know all the things I know, it's better if they don't and they can make something I don't get understandable. We can both bring something to the table, and of course some mutual things, but who really gets in a good relationship with someone they don't have something in common with. Too many guys run around acting like chickens with their heads cut off. Being intelligent is one thing, displaying it is another beast all together. Fifth, being able to take my bullshit. I go back and forth all the time from being sane to being ridiculous, so being able to deal with me and my bullshit is pretty much a necessary. That's a given about any sort of relationship if you really thing about it. I'm a vain son of a bitch sometimes, in that vanity is intelligence, now just physical attributes.
I realized how that last paragraph was written switched mid-way through, but ehh, it all still gets the point I was intending across, I think. I'm too ridiculous for anyone, and that's why I'm alone. I also figure that why rush into something with someone I either barely know, or don't really like. Someone will accept my ridiculous ass at some point, and then who knows. Until then I fly solo, paralleling people every now and again before I'm back on my own.
*edit*
So, the saga of idiocy continues. The pirate outfit he's talking about is simple. I was dressed in a striped red and gold tunic-ish shirt, white skirt and had a scarf in my hair for a banquet I went to. I was at my university's sport club banquet as one of the representatives for the fencing club, I realized with a saber in my hand I kind of looked like a pirate and thought the picture was fun. My cousin on the other hand thought it was lame. He says I have an attitude because I act like I was raised educated, I'm sorry* if acting like I have common sense is offensive to you, but fuck off. Really. What the fuck does he mean by presentable? Wearing hoochie skirts and low cut shirt? Wearing what's popular? Fat people don't look good in that shit, and it's shit. Fuck fads, I work with clay twice a week and various drawing supplies the rest of the week. I don't have time for that shit I'm function over fashion. I don't consider 'feminine' clothing to be all that functional, which is why I stray away from it usually. But, when I need to dress nicer than I normally do, I have nicer things, but if I know I'll be using something that stains and messes up good clothing why should I wear it? He needs to stop focusing on my life and get a job and an education and better himself. He's not from skid-row, he's from a damn suburb of Cleveland, OH, an upper-middle class suburb at that. ['Skid Row' Little Shop of Horrors Watch the first 30 seconds]. Learning how to type properly he can do from home. Trying to decipher his last message I realized it's all one sentence with no period at the end. My ten year old sister can write better than him, and she's a gat damn kid 12 years his junior.
*Edit 2* My retarded cousin has shown a lack of reading comprehension and straight up ignorance. I can't talk to this fool. I'd rather be poor and fucking homeless than to go to him with his normal like of 'girls n cash n cars'. I'm about to drop him from facebook. He does nothing positive for me and my decided upon life style.Jasmine P.
* Not sorry in the least.
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