I'm also fucking sick of humans as a fucking whole. The entire fucking race can burn in hell at the fucking moment. We're done, here.
Fuck good intentions.
They pave the road to hell or some shit.
No good deed goes unpunished and WTFever else.
We're done, here. Day one, training for Ringmaster.
Most selfish fucking thing I've done in years. I need it. Fuck growing up. Fuck caring that it will fucking kill me, someday. Let's play nice and beat the Ellis empire at their own fucking game without putting our fucking necks on the line. Let's let the dumb fucktarded kids take hits for us because it's fucking better, according to Ringgy. He'll fucking hate me in a month.
Today, I felt out what I'm fucking working with. Next Saturday, I bring out the fucking lectures.
Next week's fucking lesson:
Predicting what the opponent is going to fucking do next.
Practice seeing everything at one fucking time.
Watch twitches in his muscles, watch his weapon but most of all, watch his fucking eyes because they're the dead as fuck fucking giveaway.
Oh, but don't take your eyes off of that fucking silver thing. It can kill you. A few years ago, I made one of the worst decisions of my fucking life. That was to give myself a break from the people who I barely fucking knew to focus on a few individuals who meant more than the rest.
Fucking A for intellect.
Getting too fucking close, dropping all fucking perspective off the fucking face of the planet and getting too fucking involved, how the fuck didn't I know this would end badly?
Never interfere.
Who fucking cares, if they say they're beaten with belts and treated unfairly even if it's true, the first step and that fucking escape needs to be their fucking move and their decision. The fucking Cinderella complex is unhealthy. It's on you. Prince Charming should not fucking save you. It's bad for you.
We're fucking done, here. Part 2,396:
That damsel in distress is using you.
Let's fucking face it. Guys aren't the only evil fucks in the world. There are women out there who are pretty fucking awful. Pretty girls get stepped on and fucking used endlessly, but WTF about pretty boys?
You think we fucking feel it, too?
Something about an intense, intelligent, vulgar boy who wears a lot of leather makes good girls fucking drool. There's a fucking level of mom would hate him that makes them want to be friends (or more) for that sole fucking purpose.
An interesting life with really fucking interesting stories makes it even fucking worse. They want to hear about your near death experiences and shit. They could give a fuck about who you are as a fucking person.
They're using you to fucking escape from their current reality and that doesn't necessarily mean it's bad. It could just be fucking boring. There's a huge fucking chance that they could have a model fucking family life and may just be fucking bored with it.
Regardless, we're done here.
I'm done being everyone's fucking "escape" tool.
When you want to honest to fuck focus on improving your life, we'll fucking talk. I'm not going to be your fucking distraction from today's problems.
Not dealing with shit does something to you.
It makes that shit own you.
It makes avoiding the issue the center of your fucking universe.
That's not my world.
I can't fucking watch it eat everyone else alive.
My reality is fucking solid. That doesn't mean that it's okay to fucking use me to fuck up yours. Why bother helping you escape your fucking demons when you plan to just let them fucking eat you alive from inside of your head?
The pictures I want to include are too fucking huge to include because they would be a royal fucking pain to upload.
It's been a long fucking time since I got myself in trouble on Xanga and I was getting fucking ancy. This seems like a fucking opportunity.
I'm sick and fucking tired of shallow, closed-minded fucking mentalities. I'm fucking sick of people who only see the fucking face value. I'm fucking sick of people who don't fucking care because there is a whole fucking community of "I don't care" around this building and in the bigger fucking picture, a whole fucking country of "I don't care" letting a whole fucking culture disappear.
To know WTF I'm talking about, you need to know something about Burbank Illinois.
It is a wasteland of modern bullshit.
Very few fucking pieces of Burbank's history remain because so many fucking immigrants are coming in and they just don't give a fuck about what it was before they got there. The old residents are getting chased out because they want to get away from the gang activity and the fucking cliques that the fucking immigrants are bringing with them. There are people trying to form a new community on top of the old one and it's fucking disappearing under the weight.
It hasn't been a fucking community for long. There are very fucking few things in Burbank worth saving for historic value.
The first item of interest was a school building that was built by the fucking WPA. They tore that down because it was "old" and no one fucking cared. Fuck knows, I didn't. It happens all the fucking time. Today, I learned why I fucking should have. The Old Barn restaurant, bar and banquet hall has been in the community since before 1920. It was a speakeasy during prohibition. Al Capone hung out there at one fucking time or another. It was an exclusive club before it opened to the public.
It's been through a lot of owners. I have no fucking idea how many. The last owner purchased it in 2006 and as far as I've fucking heard, was so fucking enthused about owning a part of Burbank history that he paid more than the fucking building was worth. No one knows exactly what drove them into bankruptcy. Ricks theorizes that they needed a new roof and couldn't fucking afford it. There was evidently a massive fucking fire in the kitchen that was never fucking repaired afterward. Whatever the fuck reason it got foreclosed on, it did.
A building with amazing fucking 1920's woodwork, seven or so fucking fireplaces and beautiful fucking molding is going to get refucking purchased. That's just how it fucking works. Places don't get fucking abandoned in Burbank. It's a middle class neighborhood that does moderately fucking well for itself. This isn't like Dixie Fucking Square that's in the middle of slumtown USA. This is fucking Burbank.
Then why in the fuck has this building (not even fucking calling it The Old Barn because this is not about a fucking restaurant) been abandoned since 2009?
As if I didn't just piss one person off by posting everything before this, part two is fucking worse. I'm getting "racial," now.
A church wanted to move into the building. Burbank fucking said (and I get why they said it) that they want it on their fucking tax roll, so they don't want a fucking church in there.
Wait a fucking second? A fucking restaurant/bar/banquet hall to a fucking church with a congregation of 250 people? WTF? The Banquet hall has a fucking capacity of over 400 people, plus there are five separate restaurant rooms and a huge fucking bar, plus the kitchen, the huge fucking dish washing room and a whole fucking upstairs area that was used for laundry and maintenance type-shit.
It's a Mexican church.
WTF would a small, Mexican church want with a building that fucking huge?
Tell me that it doesn't sound like a massive fucking ploy to house illegal immigrants and fucking call it "sanctuary" so that they don't get thrown out. I am not a fucking conspiracy theorist. Give me another fucking reason that makes sense and I will gladly fucking consider it.
Burbank said no because they did not want to rezone the huge fucking property that the building is sitting on. There is no fucking arguing that. The area is prime real-estate, on the intersection between two busy streets. Burbank wants to keep taxing it. It makes perfect fucking sense to me.
The church wasn't fucking happy.
They played the race card.
They fucking took The City of Burbank to Court, fucking saying that it's discrimination and that's why they can't fucking move in.
Rather than give in and give up the massive building, Burbank decided to fight. While fighting, they cut the power to the building.
All of that beautiful fucking woodwork, furniture and all, is fucking rotting in there.
Even if they were wary of the church's intentions, they had every fucking reason to be. I don't fucking blame them for what they're doing.
If this had happened 10 years ago, maybe 20, people would be fucking protesting and fighting this fucking wasteful insanity.
If we don't know how fucking awful I am at stating how I feel, I'll fucking clarify it with you, now. If it's shit like "I care deeply about you and I don't want you to die," I can't fucking say it.
It's so over fucking said that it is a fucking cliche.
If you're planning on fucking killing yourself, I can't say anything to you that you haven't fucking heard already or that you wouldn't fucking expect to hear.
That doesn't mean that I don't fucking care.
August 2007
I remember when Tiffany and Selene died and everyone was trying to comfort me. "It will be alright" "You can find new friends" "I know it hurts because my great grandpa died two years ago" and other such bullshit.
It never fucking helped.
In fact, assholes saying comforting things because they're supposed to just made it even fucking worse for me, so I won't even fucking go there. The fact is that the shit sucks and there's nothing you can do to ease the pain but keep your head together and wait it out. Here's another interesting fucking thing.
When A mutual friend of mine and Raven's has a fucking problem, yes, I'm more fucking worried about Raven than myself. That also doesn't mean that I don't fucking care.
Fucking thing is that if someone offs themself, I will be beyond the fucking point of upset. I will cut myself. I will paint blood on my fucking walls and add to my mural or create a fucking blood painting to represent that fucking person. Maxie will know I'm cutting. He'll find me in the fucking morning or stay up all night fucking monitoring me. They'll pump me full of more fucking blood. I'll be dizzy and fucking headachey fucking recovering for a few days. I'll cry. I'll write. I'll paint. No permanent fucking damage will come and I wear both physical and fucking emotional scars well.
No, that doesn't mean that I don't care if people off themselves. It means that I can fucking deal with tragedy. No matter how fucking unhealthy you think it is, I can fucking cope.
The few people who still fucking know me keep me sane. I would still be very fucking worried about me.
I am even more fucking worried about Raven. When people who Raven fucking cares about die, he will immediately fucking decide that he could have fucking done something to save them. There's a fucking period of surreality where he's seemingly fucking fine but he's constantly fucking obsessing about what he could have fucking done differently.
You know the breakdown will be truly fucking awful when he starts fucking smiling and joking about the person's fucking death.
Give it a week and he starts to fucking miss them. This is when he'll start fucking mutilating (not cutting).
When I am distressed, I will have more horizontal scars on my left arm. When Raven is distressed, he could lose use of a fucking limb. He could destroy a fucking eye. He could drink something fucking caustic and fucking have permanent internal damage. He's not as fucking predictable.
He's skinned himself. He's attempted to gouge out his fucking eye. He's broken his own fucking bones. He's jumped out of a moving fucking car on a highway.
I just cut.
Take it however you want to fucking take it. If it bothers you that I'm not going to fucking skin myself or gouge out my fucking eyes over you, I'm not really all that fucking sorry. If people can't trust that I fucking care regardless of whether I skin myself or not, then that's their fucking problem and not my fucking fault. I am actually sorry that I can't be everything to everyone but I'm not going to fucking sacrifice myself to fucking fix it.
Call me cold all you fucking want to. I still care. I'm just not going to fucking die caring.
Having no one online who is actually fucking online (I don't blame Aingeal) makes me reflect on how little I've been fucking blogging, lately.
It's been a long fucking "journey" of shit. Things have been "complicated."
I have two blogging requests that I actually intend to fucking cover but for today, you get to fucking hear about Frankenleg, again.
As of this morning, he has a new fucking mesh of skin over the back of his knee. I can't fucking wait to get out of this hospital. They want to keep me to make sure the graft fucking takes this time. Frank is in restraints. I'm fucking bored. Funny how no one is fucking there.
Maxie will be at my fucking side as soon as Damien is out of his own fucking "drinking bleach" lockup. He gets transferred from the hospital to a fucking nut house to work off the tranquilizers. He'll be pissed to find out that there's a whole three fucking days he doesn't remember the better fucking part of.
Raven is on self lockdown because someone he deeply fucking cares about is depressed and apparently fucking blocked him on AIM. He's not answering his phone and according to the fucking neighbors, he's outside in the fucking rain, waxing his car.
Lucian celebrated a birthday with Skyler and no one else. Fucking a for turning 8. Since no one is all that fucking sure when his birthday is anyway, why not fucking move it to January or March? Why in the fuck February? That fucking kills me. Every fucking February, Daddy has a fucking breakdown, so lets distribute the fucking stresssful birthdays better.
Ricks is Ricks.
Damien drank bleach and went back to bed. Dr. Sodomy woke up when he started fucking vomiting blood. Fucking A for moronic. I just can't get as emotionally fucking worked up about it as I used to.
It's too fucking common.
Instead of being fucking amused by it now, I'm just fucking sick of it. Let's find a fucking means of being entertaining other than tearing ourselves into tiny fucking pieces.
As much as I completely fucking hated the archaic old fucktard who taught The Sociology of Marriage and Family at Moron Valley, something he said has been fucking sticking to my subconscious like an industrial sticker in a Hillary Clinton campaign. (Ask Ricks about that one.)
Because it's so commonly fucking used to talk about sex, people always assume that's what it is.
Examples fucking being, my relationships with Ricks, Raven, Maitha and Angel are intimate. We share a lot of fucking personal details with each other. All of us are pretty fucking naturally asexual people.
One thing I fucking loved that the Marriage and Family teacher (who we will call Mr. Fucktard) always did was that he always fucking talked about intimacy in the terms of every fucking relationship we have, sexual or otherwise.
He talked about Intimate Friends and lovers.
The thing that he said that really fucking stuck on me is this.
You cannot have a truly intimate relationship with someone from whom you are keeping secrets. And the reason this fucking stuck with me is this:
If you keep one major secret that is something that you're currently doing or feeling, you trap yourself.
Either you need to stop fucking talking to that person as much because you want to talk about what you're doing or feeling that you're keeping from them or you need to start fucking lying to cover it up. Either fucking way, this damages the relationship.
Lies and secrets have ruined more fucking relationships (friendships and romantic ones) than anything else on the fucking planet.
When you keep things from people and/or fucking lie to them, you keep a part of yourself from them and prevent your relationship with that person from ever being completely fucking intimate.
That fucking said, as much as Mr. Fucktard was a fucking idiot, those are words of wisdom that I'll never fucking forget.
Yes, it's Matchbox Twenty day in Pyro land. Stop fucking laughing.
