2.32. We Are An Angry People

We are an angry people

Overpowered by the necessity to grow with the propensity to thrash in oceans of muck we created. Erratic manifestations overflowing from pores of the poor onto the feet of oblivious caricatures strolling through the scene.

I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead…

But very much alive in thought and ideas. Continuously moving and flowing, contaminating the sparkling water that caresses the tips of lips and coagulates before the throat has any idea dysfunction has seeped in and claimed a home.

A sanction in this new body, this new place…where we can be any fucking thing we want to be. Taught to morph and manipulate through the cracks until you believe we are everything and nothing you want us to be.

Quiet and easily unseen; we are those shadows. Domineering and self assured; easily played and often easily assumed. Smart enough to enter a circle of false prophets and million dollar penguins…done without a second thought. Dumb enough so you’ll reveal your secrets to semi-deaf, but not really, ears…always.

We are an angry people.

But quietly waiting for our moment


When chains will be launched and blood will be shed. When tears will cleanse away oceans of blood. Yours and yours again. So giving…the foolish tend to be.

We are an angry people.

Lost in the memories of who we were. Who we thought we should have been and who we can’t seem to explain. BUT we fight. We fight on, no matter the personal anguish, because we are cold. We will turn off switches and lash them against your back in the same notion. Not two breaths or two beats will pass in hesitation because we can give the pain we know all too well.

We laugh when they cry and sulk and crumble. Because we have lived that life. We have seen that road. Fuck, we paved it. We know the feeling…

Mother, where did you go?

Father, why did you go?

Liars and thieves sculpted from first occupancy…created as soldiers to enable, to secure, to pawn, to prostitute, to manipulate, to convey, to sway, to torture, to shatter…………………………..

We are an angry fucking people.

Tired of broken promises. Lies upon lies upon lies upon…silk bed sheets where more false promises are molded, pushed, prodded, molested, raped, skinned, burned, pressed, slapped, punched, shunned, scoured, dragged, beaten, bruised, hung to dry until the next time.

We recall the baggage, the pain of yesteryear because it’s simpler, more familiar, than your smiles and whimsical moments.

Your happiness scares us. Terrifies us. Instills the deepest, truest sense of fear in us.

We are an angry people. Hoping to get out of the darkness, hoping to taste life for the first time before it’s over.

But trembling with fear at the prospect.


2.31. Random Guy Message #402

2/11 –

Guy: Hey I’m B****

Guy: I would really like to talk and see what happens 🙂

Me: If we don’t talk, that should tell you exactly what’s going to happen

Guy: Ouch. Thanks for the honesty! (He doesn’t mean that).

2/17 –

Guy: You always this mean?

2/18 –

Me: When did honesty equate to being mean?

Guy: When its not said in a sweet way 🙂

Guy: You want to talk or not?

Me: I’ll write that down.

Me: Didn’t my previous message make it clear I didn’t?

Guy: Nope (I think he’s slow)

Me: Wow, you don’t follow along well, do you? Nope, not remotely interested.

Guy: Right on

2/27 –

Guy: Change your mind yet? 🙂

Me: No, and this is getting pretty old. I guess you like blocks, huh

Guy: I don’t know….never taken a black girl out.

Guy: Would like to though

Me: Do you actually read profiles? I’m not black. I’m Puerto Rican.

Guy: I saw that. You asked

Me: That doesn’t answer my question. If you saw that then that means you can read and if you can read then you would know I’m not black. So wanting to take a black girl out…you’re barking up the wrong tree.

Guy: Okay let me rephrase that. I have never taken any girl that wasn’t caucasian, but I would like to

Me: And that’s just great. It’s just not going to happen with me.

Guy: What do you have to loose by talking to me?

Me: My time, which is precious to me.
Listen, you’re probably a real gem. A catch. Prince Charming to some chick. You’re just not what I want. Not only am I not physically attracted to you but the extent of this conversation tells me that I would annihilate you. It’s nothing personal. I just know what I want and what I don’t want. I’m not here to fill your curiosity for what it’s like to take out a non-white girl. Good luck in finding that.

Me: Now I see why you are single. Later

OMG! Thank you sooooo much. I just got schooled as to why I’m not in a relationship. Because I won’t talk to fuglies who have brown girl fetishes/can’t read/and are thirsty as a motherfucker.

Guess I’ll be single forever. Gladly.

2.28 – Digital Dating Diary (Entry1)

Real messages from real people showing really sad attempts…

“Your son is very handsome , your not so bad yourself, im a single dad, business owner, and looking for someone to hang with in the little free time I have, so if your interested in rich Italian guys message me back”

“-May your wings lift you to the top of the world”

“Yet, a true happiness calls through the shadows of my loneliness stirring my heart to take again another chance risking pain once again….oh how I must find pleasure in the pain.”

“Priceless, you’re priceless!! No dollar amount can buy the joy & happiness you bring. You are the first lady worthy of a king, my queen. The moment I set eyes on you, I knew I would fall. You make it better! lets chat sweetheart, i would love to get to know U”

“Damn Lil momma any way u dig white boys”

“I wanna know you”

“Hello how are you doing and what movies do you like seeing and things like to do for fun maybe bowling; dancing; mini golf; playing pool; darts or anything fun like that just asking………………..”

“Hey I’m Brandon. I read your profile and you cought my eye. What is the first thing you look for in a guy? How’s was your weekend?”

“Hi i probably have no chance but i thought id balls up and message u and tell u wow”

“Wuz up. How u doin? Thought mayb we can chat n talk a lil get to know eachother hit me up.dnt b a stranger get at me”


I might be a bitch for how critical I am. But I’m not hoping for some random guy. I’m not hoping for some fair weather connection, intimate encounter, or sugar daddy. I want to fall head over heels in love. And so I wait…and laugh in the meantime.

2.20. The Crusades


The majestic strummed a line on the violin…blood soaked fingertips…forcing melancholy melodies into the universe…bounced back from a red planet…echoing in the midst of gunfire and a decrepit womans screams.


Story telling empty pages of empty books…eating from empty baskets of rotted bread…swimming in salt baths minus the water…frozen in gasoline icicles…waiting for ignition…for…release…from still rivers and looming typoons.


Shedding her skin…she slips under and sighs with the sinking feeling of weightlessness. As nothing has felt so freeing as the intoxication of maddening drum beats and electric currents. A senseless sense of sensibility.


A lifelong concussion…forbidding sleep and sanction…love that died…resurrection sucked from the realm of possibility and replaced with a fucking song that means…nothing.


But the sun shines…


No, not whatever. The sun shines, despite memories. Despite mistakes. Despite the scars of a lifetime. Despite seeing the skeleton in the mirror instead of pushing it back into the closet. Despite the nightmares that lurk in the shadows of daylight. Despite the recorder that relays a constant replay of regret and rejection and “you’ll never do any better.”

No, not whatever. The sun shines, despite me. Despite a fear to live and a fear to die. Despite each breath one takes and the ones we hold in during those questionable hours right before the moon has bidden farewell to muskrats in meadows that never really existed.

No, not whatever. The sun shines and the world moves and the people continue despite the false pretenses recognized but ignored by carnage infused children living in the catacombs of our alternate selves.

Oh shit, none of this makes a lick of sense.

But it does.

To the lost spirits who will spend a lifetime hoping and wanting and praying and needing and wishing and dreaming but refusing…to accept…to claim…to feel. To the lost spirits who will self sabotage rather than bask in the heat of magic and the draft of cooing heat. Yes, cooing.

Because we choose this life. We choose to forge on in this crusade. Alone. Altered. Unarmed. Seeking mercy but expecting malevolence.

Sinking to her knees, that girl, she begged the wrong one to accept her. To embrace her. To forgive her existence. She relinquished control to someone who knew not the damage that could be done.

A lost spirit that believed she was safe behind brick walls. Refusing to allow a soul to know a soul. Safe…no. Wrong…more than likely. A ghost lay behind those stones, all the while, that girl lay submerged under the rubble of defeat.


Yes, whatever. As today is, like no other day, a reason to emerge from the shell. The sun shines. The crusade is not to hide from, but to feel, the heat.

2.14. ATTN:Stupid People – Stop Breathing

This is a rant. This is not meant to be nice or sweet or even thought provoking. This is me venting because I feel like it.

So, I’ve (very) recently come to the conclusion that I need to work on my positivity, my outlook on the human species, and my inability to give people a chance to show their good side instead of insinuating there must be something wrong.

I hung out with a group of people last night and actually allowed myself to enjoy peoples company without focusing on what could be negative. Went out to play pool and avoided blowing up on a sleazy, dirty old man…two points for me. This is going to take a lot of time and a lot of practice but I’m willing. Yay me.

And then I go to work.

And I listen to the tirades of a old angry woman. I listen to her curse and yell about the conspiracies against her. I listen and even advise her to speak with our manager (yes, she’s a co-worker). And then, she slips in some little dialogue about the favoritism that I have received. Because I have not been scheduled to work at 5am in the past several weeks. And how that is unfair in relation to the fact she she has in fact worked all morning shifts. That someone else has been denied a guaranteed day off to pursue college courses…and here I am getting to sleep in.

Well, fuck me running.

Furthermore, I find out from MULTIPLE co-workers that she has gone on several little tirades about me and the fact that I don’t work morning shifts. She had the audacity to BOLD FACE lie and say I have an arrangement with the manager so I don’t have to work mornings.

Oh no, bitch, oh no.

“Don’t you think it’s messed up that she doesn’t have to work morning and we do, that you can’t go to school but she gets a special schedule, isn’t that upsetting, I should make more money than she does, I wish I could come to work to sit on my ass and be pretty.”

Sit on my ass and be pretty? Because according to this haggard old cranky ass…that’s what I get paid to do.

Let’s see…

Tomorrow, I will be at work at 7am. I will work until 1pm. I will drive to my second job and work from 1:30 to 9pm. I will then go pick up my son and spend time with my boy until he is good and ready to go to sleep. I will sit on my pretty little ass on Monday since it is my off day, which entails me chasing my son around the house, reading to him, playing with him even though I am exhausted, and attempting to clean our hell hole. Somewhere in there, I will devote 3-5 hours at the welfare office in which I will apply (under the advisement of my attorney) for food stamps since, despite working two jobs, I still fall below poverty level. I will also attempt to fathom how I will pay all of my bills and give my son something remotely resembling a Christmas without losing my mind or focusing on the fact that for the past 20 months, my son has been shortened over $8000.00 that he will never get back and 8 grand that could have spared me a lot of fucking tear filled nights. I will rinse and repeat for Tuesday and manage to include a divorce mediation session that will emotionally rock me to the core. Wednesday, I will sit on my pretty little ass for 9 hours, the same Thursday and on Friday I will chase my son around yet again until he leaves for his fathers house. I will then take my pretty ass to bed and sleep (BECAUSE I’M FUCKING LAZY) and get as much rest as I can in before I go to work at 5am and get off of work at 9pm. That is a 16 hour day. WHICH I WILL DO AGAIN ON SUNDAY BEFORE PICKING UP MY SON AND PREPARING FOR ANOTHER FUCKING WEEK.

Sounds like a walk in the park.

So…in short – the next time some droopy old cunt decides to talk shit on me and questions my integrity as a worker, I would just like to give a shout out reminder that my work day does not start or end when I walk through those doors. That my work stress is the LEAST of my fucking problems. That there is NOTHING she could do in the entirety of her meaningless existence that will remotely compare to what I do in a day.

Fuck you very much.



2.13. Tragedy Is Our Reality

There is NOTHING that justifies killing a child.

There is NOTHING that explains away how someone could rip a gaping hole into the future,

There is NOTHING that makes me believe in the concept of pure evil as the capability of slaughtering the innocent.

There is NOTHING that makes me lose faith in human kind more than innocence being so blatantly debilitated.

There is NOTHING that scares me more than knowing NO ONE is safe from the insanity of an angry, over-privileged, self-righteous, greedy, egotistical world and its inhabitants.

There is NOTHING anyone can say to make tragedy better, easier, calmer, more bearable.

There is NOTHING that will bring those children back.

There is NOTHING that will erase the nightmares, terror, fear, and trauma from the survivors.

There is NOTHING that will ever make this make sense.

My heart breaks for the pain, the sorrow, the agony shrouded over the memory of those lost. My mind reels in pure loathing for the despicable disregard for others so easily displayed by the shooter(s). The facts are still unclear. But the only fact, the only relevant piece of this puzzle, is that children are dead.

The media is going to dive down on this like vultures. They will analyze the killer(s) as if they are specimens to be understood. They will try to make sense of this just as they have tried with every other act of terrorism on our soil. They will blame mental illness, the economy, music, TV, movies, a failed marriage, the turmoil in the lives of the assailants. They will put a stamp on it and in six months…no one will be talking about the 18 dead. No one will remember their names, what they wanted to be when they grew up, their favorite foods, their letters to Santa. No one will remember.

And the day after WE forget…THIS WILL HAPPEN AGAIN.

This is not an epidemic. This is not something to work toward curing. This isn’t Cancer. This is Death. This is now an inevitable part of our reality. Because when you do the same shit – you get the same results. This is something that isn’t going away. No matter how many poor attempts at understanding and discussion we pretend to have.

With every form of social media sending out condolences and cries of dismay…ask yourself…what are YOU going to do to stop this? What are WE going to do?

Because I will be damned if my son is going to be shot up at a movie theater. I will be damned if my child is shot up in the halls of his elementary school, his high school, his college. I will be damned if my son leaves this world before I do! Point blank period.

I don’t have the answers. I have only one suggestion. WE, as a society, need to realize that EVERYTHING we think we’re doing right – nix it. EVERYTHING we think we know – null and void. Throw away all of the options of normalcy and forget it. It’s gone. It’s time to think outside the box – because innocents are being shot up inside that box. Inside the confines of our little minds and our shortened attention spans. Inside of the walls of a world WE have built.

It’s bullying, it’s hatred, it’s killers, it’s the anonymity of evil. It’s that we live in a world in which ANYONE is capable of covering our children’s lives in veils of red. Ending a better future before it has a chance to replace the reality we SHOULD BE ashamed to call our own.

This post means NOTHING in the grand scheme of things.

These words are just those of a heartbroken, shocked, appalled, terrified mother. A woman who doesn’t know how to save her child. A woman who wants to figure out how.


2.3 – Consider This…

At work today, it was brought to my attention that one of our spot freezers was not working. After informing my manager, I was instructed to dispose of all of the food within the freezer.

I truly felt sick.

I can’t even explain how many pounds of food I threw into a green dumpster. Whole ducks, oatmeal, chicken and steak, ravioli and even donuts. A shopping cart overflowing with food. Food that could have fed homeless people, zoo animals, contributed to compost heaps. Anything instead of being thrown into a dumpster for the flies.

And I’m asking myself what the hell are we doing? Why do we not have someone to call? “Hey, our freezer just broke and we have an immense amount of food…can you come and pick it up and do something with it…anything?”

According to StopHunger, at the time of this publication – 29,400 people died of hunger today. 29,400 PEOPLE.DIED.OF.HUNGER.TODAY.

Throwing that food away today made me feel like I am apart of the problem. Because I am. Because I’m not doing anything to change the situation. I can sit here and write a post about the situation or I can do something to change it.

Let’s get started.

1.187 – Evils Voice

He berated her; calling her names for all the world to hear, mocking her in the presence of strangers. She didn’t say a word. She avoided all eye contact and just held the money in her hands while the cashier waited for some form of tender. The cart was full and she didn’t have enough money. And he humiliated her for it. He took out all of the things she had wanted and asked them to be removed from the final bill. He insulted her with each item he removed from the cart.

The transaction was over. And he continued. Vocalizing her inability to get a job. Blaming her for the job he was forced to take to provide for the household. He told her just how dumb she really was. Every time he walked by her, he leaned into her ear and mocked her a little bit more.

Their son sat five feet away.

This is not my story. This is the story of an unheard voice. One that has not had the courage to say “no more,” to the abuse. Purposefully demeaning someone for the sheer gratification of establishing control is sickening, repulsive, and pure evil.

I hope that girl finds her voice. I hope that man loses his. I hope that child learns that his father is an example of what NOT to be.

We have all heard the voice of evil. We have all been the voice of evil. If not our children, what is worth making the change?

I hope that woman figures it out. I know I have.

1.184 – Power Outages Suck

After a nine hour shift, I was so ready to head home. That was at 8pm. It is now almost 12:30am and I’ve been home less than fifteen minutes. Where did four hours go?

Bad luck ate them.

I drove to the sitters to pick up my son, who happened to be asleep. Awesome! We might actually get great rest tonight. The sitter informs me that my son had a lapse in his potty training and spent more time pissing on the floor than he did in the potty. Okay, piss happens. I’m off tomorrow…We’ll spend all day working on it.

My son wakes up. Okay, no biggie. He’ll fall asleep on the way home and all will be well.

He says he has to go potty and does. In the potty. YES! Life is good.

We drive home and there are no lights on in my area of the complex. WTF.

I take my son back to the sitters and ask if he can hang out there until I figure out when the power will be coming back on. (We had a storm this evening so I’m assuming that’s where the power went).

I return to my complex and spot my old neighbors. I lived across from them in a two bedroom in the next building before I downgraded. I’ve barely ever spoken to them much more than a hello. I did ask the wife if I could borrow her husband to move my couch when I was moving and she said “don’t you have a baby daddy?” Yeah, okay. I get the feeling she thinks everyone wants to screw her husband.

I walk over and ask if they know anything about the power coming back on soon. The wife is sitting on a step while the husband is standing in the street. He doesn’t say a word to me and the wife says…and I quote, “you just gonna come up over here like you didn’t see me. Gonna come up and talk to my husband like I ain’t out here.” Then she does this bitchy laugh.

I would address this to that woman but I doubt her ass can read so I’m just going to say this in a very general, non-judgmental voice: it is comical how pothead, low-life, nasty ass, ghetto mentality bitches ASSUME everyone is after their pothead, low-life, nasty ass, ghetto mentality assholes. Please save your insecurity and alcohol induced attitude for someone who gives a shit about you. I asked a simple ass question and I expect a simple ass answer. This is not Maury. I don’t need to know that he probably cheated on you with a cousin or that he has multiple texts from some girl name Rashonda on his phone. So please, just shut the fuck up and do the world a favor – smoke some weed laced with something lethal and die. Thank you.

I wait another 30 minutes in my car only to see the electric people drive by my complex. Okay, this blows and I’m hungry.

I go and pick up my son and decide we’re going to IHOP for some pancakes. I type IHOP into my GPS to see if there is any location closer than the one 20 minutes away. It says there is one 12 minutes from my house. SWEET!

I follow the directions and get a feeling. This doesn’t look like it’s leading me to a place where an IHOP would be. There are houses everywhere.

I almost hit a dead possum (thankfully I didn’t, and according to my GPS, I’m around the corner from the great IHOP.


International House of Prayer Housing! A FUCKING HOUSING PLACE FOR THE IHOP PEOPLE! NOT PANCAKE HOUSE STAFF!! The people who pray at this Kansas based church thingy. I’m not going to call it a cult. But they have taken over the GPS systems. I want pancakes and they took me to their den of prayer. I’m just saying – that’ some cult shit right there!

Needless to say, by this point, I want to cry, scream, and punch someone in the throat. But I also want pancakes.

I waste another 14 minutes backtracking and then make the 20 minute journey to the REAL IHOP! I don’t even get pancakes. My son gets mac and cheese only to decide that he wants to eat pickles and only pickles.

We eat. I waste 20.00 I don’t really have to spare and we head home. So here I am. 4 hours after getting out of work. I’m tired, annoyed, and moody. My son is wide awake. I don’t work tomorrow.

I’m not leaving the house. I’m not answering the phone. I’m avoiding life at all costs. My son and I will be hibernating. Because I said so.

I now return you to your regularly scheduled program – already in progress.

1.181 – Priorities (Twi-Hards Are MORONS)!

Okay, so I’m laying in bed, getting ready to go to sleep, and I’m flipping through my Pulse buzz feed on my Nook Tablet. It’s my nightly ritual to stay up to date on the world and what’s happening in it.

Wow, Skylah, that sounds pretty gosh darn exciting. So why the hell aren’t you in bed? Why are you sitting in front of your PC at 2am instead of sleeping?

Pipe the fuck down and I’ll tell you. FYI: this is a rant and I’m going to be a real bitch in about .5 seconds.

WHY THE FUCK is my news feed filled with articles and youtube videos about Kristen fucking Stewart? Kristen puts out a public apology after confirming that she has, in fact, cheated on Robert Pattinson with the director of Snow White and The Huntsman – Rupert Sanders.

This is where I take a breath and rub my head…because I just don’t understand. You’ve got these damn “Twi-Hards” going ballistic on their tumblr, twitter, Facebook accounts…having meltdowns for poor Robert, for poor Kristen…because it all had to be photoshopped…these people are losing their minds over this garbage.

And that’s when I got my ass out of bed. Because I’ve about had enough. Seriously.

Here are the facts:

Kristen Stewart is a cheater.

Rupert Sanders has a wife and kids that he has now screwed over for someone 19 years his junior.

Robert Pattinson must be heartbroken and humiliated.

Do I give a shit? NO!

Do you know why I don’t give a flying fuck?

Because these morons who feel so fucking moved over this absolute nonsense have no sense of reality or of what matters in the world. Did these people get angry, shed a tear, record a response video to the tragedy in Aurora, Colorado? Do any of them know the name of the six year old little girl who died at the hands of a complete sociopath?

We live in a society that cares more about celebrity scandal than the value of a human life. We live in a society where a girl is raped and told BY THE COURTS to keep her mouth shut. A society that will spend more coverage on an actress…that can’t fucking act…giving the pussy liquor to her director. We live in a society that will cry for Robert Pattinson and his potentially wounded heart over the truest heroes of our time – the people who sacrificed their lives for loved ones in a movie theater as it was shot up by some idiot who will probably get off because he is white and well educated – no doubt under an insanity plea.

James Holmes asked how the Batman movie ended. You idiots are asking what will happen to “Robsten.” You’re priorities are all sorts of fucked up and in my eyes…you are one and the same. As a society, we have failed; created killers and morons alike. I’m disgusted and finished. Now, I’m taking my angry ass to bed.

BTW, her name was Veronica Moser-Sullivan.

Dear “Twi-Hards” – Fuck you and goodnight.

RIP. I cry for YOU. – Jonathan T. Blunk, Alexander C. Teves, Jesse Childress, Gordon W. Cowden, Matt McQuinn, Alex Sullivan, Rebecca Ann Wingo, Alexander J. Boik, Micayla Medek, John Larimer, Jessica Ghawi, Veronica Moser-Sullivan.