Slit wrists paint horrid pictures.
Noosed necks sing nasty songs.
Fallen angels create a lovely mess.
Laughter echoes when he’s gone.
Slit wrists paint horrid pictures.
Noosed necks sing nasty songs.
Fallen angels create a lovely mess.
Laughter echoes when he’s gone.
I think the shelter in place is starting to get to me. I wonder how many bipolar folks are manic right now; I guess it could push some into depression, but I have a feeling more folks are manic as a result of being cooped up, but that’s just me. Am I manic? No, I’m depressed and useless, and despite being antisocial and semi misanthropic, I’m yearning for some type of adventure; I’m yearning for a day of people watching at that South American Bistro in Mission, or seeing a band that I love play at a bar that’s too small, too crowded, and too expensive, or buying a dozen forties for the homies on one of the seemingly millions of corners in the Tenderloin and playing craps until you hear gunshots, or going to downtown SJ and seethe all night long at what they’ve done to my city, or go to an art show and mock pretentious hipsters looking at pretentious art while drinking pretentious wine, or hop on the train, put my headphones on for this world I ignore and randomly get off at a stop that feels right, zigzag away from the train until I’m a few miles away, then try to find my way back to the station without using my phone—I just need some type of stimulation, I’m wasting away, we all are.
Again, I’m whining about not being able to go out, while tens of thousands are on the verge of dying. Thoughts like this have kept me suffering in silence my entire life—the idea that there are always others dying, being raped, wasting away, starving, in a living hell, all while I’m here being miserable for no reason. Is this type of misery inevitable in the first world? Japan is ranked in the top three “most free” states, but it also has the highest suicide rate: how can they be the most free then?
That doesn’t make sense, nothing makes sense anymore.
I remember reading a study about anxiety in the first world vs the third world years ago, a decade plus, where they took middle class kids from somewhere in Canada, Ottawa or Toronto, who had first world tough lives: parents divorced, molested by an uncle, drug habits, and they measured their cortisol levels and compared them against the cortisol levels of survivors of the Congo War, girls who were viciously raped by a dozen men, who watched their whole family be killed, who had one of their arms or hands cut off, and they found that many of these middle class kids had higher cortisol levels than the survivors. I remember being terrified of these findings. How is that possible? Civilization was a mistake? Our technology advanced while we stayed the same, our minds and bodies, not evolved enough to have televisions and computers and luxuries? How many tens of thousands of years did we spend using rocks to open oysters or branches to hunt fish? And all of a sudden, within a little more than a century we’re flying, then within a few decades we’re on the moon, a few decades after that we have the internet, a few decades after that we have devices that hold an infinite amount of information? We weren’t ready for this.
I basically did nothing yesterday. I felt like shit all day, anxious as fuck, unable to write, draw, read, after a while I couldn’t even lay down and watch movies. I hate upping meds, especially when you’re already in the pit—all I can do is sit with clenched fists and teeth and vibrating legs and squirming feet, hoping that I can escape via some type of distraction. By 5pm I couldn’t take it anymore, I gave in and had a few beers and a glass of Remy Martin, which I’m not a fan of, but it’s all we had. How’d it go? Not well. I hate that I can’t get obliterated anymore, it’s just not fun. Yea, it slightly gets rid of the anxiety, but after it begins to wear off, the anxiety comes back even stronger. After a few hours I ordered a pizza, took my sleeping pills, and slept off the buzz.
It’s so stupid.
Currently, Kratom, Kava and Gabapentin are the only drugs that make me feel good. I got off Kratom somewhat recently, as I usually do every month or so when I get too numb and useless to do anything but work and waste time watching wood turning or crocodile vs hippo videos. Kratom’s wonderful, but like alcohol, it makes a beautiful servant, but if you’re not careful it becomes a terrible dictator, so every month or so, like clockwork, I have to revolt, break free, return to my democracy of personality extremes, which also isn’t that great—you know, two wolves and a sheep deciding what’s for dinner.
Speaking of democracy: a few years ago I went down this rabbit hole of anti-democracy movements. It blew me away, as an American who’s taught from kindergarten on that democracy is the end-all-be-all system of government. You learn the dangers of democracy, how true democracy is basically impossible, currently at least, with the majority of people in the world easily susceptible of manipulation, via politicians and the media; I even learned about some controversial ideas regarding why the founding fathers originally only wanted democracy for those with land, because they assumed “peasants” weren’t smart enough to vote. Now I don’t agree with this, but like with many controversial ideas, I understand why it existed and legitimate reasons reasons why they thought it should be that way. I read about intellectuals during the time who thought that everybody should have the ability to vote, but they also recognized the dangers in this.
Ah, yet another idea in my head that I hate: the idea that certain people shouldn’t have the ability to do things others can. There are so many ideas like this in my head, and I fucking hate it. This is part of the reason why I’m the way I am, the miserable fuck, I can’t escape the possibility something horrid, seemingly immoral, being the correct option in certain circumstances. It’s a life of sitting alone in rooms, contemplating shitty ideas, dozens of variables written on the inside of my eyelids. The only choice you have to is disconnect from the infinite, focus on the tangible: silly videos or movies or art or music, escape, escape, escape!
I hate it.
There’s no escape.
I have to work a few hours today, I’m swamped, so I’ll leave this here. If you got to the end, thank you, I’m sorry, and have a pretty Sunday.
I spoke to my doctor: she wants me to up the dosage of one of my meds, my least favorite one; the one that fucks with my dick; the one that numbs me; the one that adds ten pounds whenever I up it, despite me only eating once a day; the one that fucks with my creativity.
Can you guess which of those I consider the worst?
Well, why am I going to take it, you’re probably thinking.
I’ve regressed, deteriorated, declined, I’ve gone back to having to avoid interactions with sharp objects for the sake of my jugular’s well-being
Ever tried to eat a steak with a spoon?
Okay, it’s not that bad, I can still use silverware, but I try to avoid knives—I guess it is that bad.
I no longer look at my dresser drawer full of scripts as a way out of this world. I tried once, didn’t turn out favorable.
“You’re only alive because of all the drugs you’ve done,” one of my friends told me after I tried to clock-out.
Who knew my reckless drug use would wound up saving my life.
My friends found me the next day sprawled out on our kitchen floor in a puddle of drool, surrounded by overturned furniture and broken pictures.
At first they just thought I partied too hard, which is funny to me, and probably sad to others. I try to kill myself and my friends just think I partied too hard. I don’t blame them, they’ve watched me drool on myself, slumped over on strange couches; they’ve seen me stumble around with rolled back eyes; they’ve seen me walk around parties with a bottle of J Dub, sippin on it like it was a beer, coke residue still on my mustache. They’ve seen the good, bad, and utterly fugly.
They put up with a lot of my shit, not sure why.
That’s old me though, now I’m boring. Now a few beers leave me tired, a few shots give me the type of hangover I used to have after weekend benders.
That doesn’t mean I don’t try to party like I used to: only 5-6 times this year though. The second or third time my friend gave me some shrooms, my former favorite drug. It wasn’t a bad trip, but it wasn’t that good. I’m dumb, I take five different meds, some flooding my synapses with the appropriate(?) amount of dopamine and epinephrine, others regulating my synapses, allowing neurotransmitter soirees, some preventing me from flying off the rails and losing my shit, others to put me to sleep if I get too manic.
And I decided to take mushrooms?
I’m a fucking moron, you lovely people know this. I deserve every bit of pain and discomfort, I do it to myself.
Why do I do it to myself?
I’m a coward.
That’s the worst part: it’s so fucking boring.
I used to think: yea, I’m fucked in the head, but at least I’m interesting.
Banality, the eighth sin.
Hey, this was pretty short and
Yet again, I’m going to go try and be creative.
I’ll either spend the entire day writing and only produce a few sentences, or I’ll start new graphic designs that I’ll never finish, or a painting I’ll never finish, or now that I impulse bought a rotary tool I can start some wood carving that I’ll never finish.
I’m just oozing positivity today.
Thanks for reading, enjoy ye days.
Treat you how I treat myself,
Yeah, I know the golden rule,
But if I treat myself like shit
What am I to do to you?
Too close to home, still makes me tear up: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=45X0N8HbFOU
How much more can I take?
Not much. I’ve emailed my psyche eleven times—they still haven’t responded. It doesn’t say she’s on vacation, and somebody else usually monitors her email when she is, so what’s going on? My primary care physician, whom I never met in person, is on vacation; I only emailed her three times. What’s going on with Kaiser? I’m so selfish, they’re busy with infected people. But what about my psyche? They can’t be? Or could they?
I need to stop whining. I have a job, I’m surrounded by people who love me, I have two dogs and a lover. I’m lucky, yea?
That makes my depression worse. The worst type of depression is the type you can’t explain. Unless you’re a psychopath or sociopath or worse, incredibly lucky, you’ve probably been depressed. It’s impossible. People die, pets die, people breakup, people lose their jobs, people get into accidents, people experience a lot of fucked up things throughout their lives—it’s impossible not to.
But what about us congenitally miserable? Us who respond to shitty events with a degree of relief? That sounds shitty. And it is. Someone dies, yes I’m sad, but I’m also relieved sometimes. Why? Because it allows me to point to something and say, “that’s why I’m sad”.
Wow, I’m a piece of shit.
One of the saddest days of my life occurred on my best friend’s wedding day. I watched two people I care deeply for, easily in my top ten, and was just fucking miserable. Why? I don’t know…and that hurts so fucking bad. When they said “I do”, a tear slid down my cheek, but it wasn’t a tear of joy, it was a relief tear; it was my chance to relieve a little bit of my sadness during a time when people usually let loose a few tears of joy.
Wow, I’m a piece of shit.
I took advantage of the death of one of my loved ones the same way: I cried and cried, some for the death, but mostly just because I was miserable already.
Wow, I’m a piece of shit.
Today is one of my favorite holidays. People are surprised when I say this, as I’m annoyingly critical of “Hallmark Holidays”, but I love the fuck out of my mom. She lives in Arizona, a little town a stonesthrow away from Mexico, and I live in the Bay Area. I miss her so much, I wish I could just fly down to see her for a few hours, but I can’t, because I can’t afford it, so instead I bought her a charm bracelet, which she has a thing for, along with a few “Mother/Son” charms. It was delivered last week, but she never contacted me to let me know she received it, which I thought was odd. I thought she was mad at me. Why? Because I’m a piece of shit. But she told me today when I spoke to her that she emailed me via my work email. I didn’t see it because it went to my spam folder. In it she told me how sad and lonely she’s been and how the present made her feel special, and how she misses me so much, and that I’m her heart. I can’t even cry right now, I’m too sad to, I’m too medicated to.
I need to get a better job, I need to have the ability to work on the road, have the ability to just hop on my computer and make enough money to live a humble life.
But I’m too stupid to; too talentless; too undeserving; too vexed; too miserable.
All of my family moved out of Cali, I’m the only one left, with the exception of one nephew I can’t bare to disappoint with my company. It try to go on vacation around this time, a long one, two or more weeks, but I can’t right now, and it sucks. I need to have the ability to skip around the states, visiting a half dozen different places, but I can’t. I can’t financially, I can’t emotionally, I can’t do it regardless of whether or not the two aforementioned states were alleviated.
I’ll only drink Tecate from now on.
I’ve been especially neurotic lately. For the last week I’ve been watching woodturning and carving videos; probably a few days worth, no hyperbole. It culminated in me buying a dremel tool haha. I need a new hobby, I need to learn a new art. I used to have a half dozen different art mediums to cycle through depending on my mood: if painting made me sad, I wrote poetry, if I was writing banal shit, I’d switch to making music, if none of those were possible, I’d read and write prose. This process worked for me, it kept my boredom and self loathing at bay, for the most part. Of course I never finished anything I started on, which made me sad in its own way, but switching to a different art medium usually alleviated this; it gave me hope that I could work on a new thing and finish it, then go back and finish the other.
I never finish the other thing.
I still have paintings and stories from when I was in high school.
Though I was able to finish a few poems on here, which temporarily provided me with exhilaration and hope…but that was years ago. Another me did all that. This version of me is a talentless hack, a charlatan, a piece of shit undeserving of little deaths and monumental achievements.
Writing doesn’t make me happy anymore. I don’t know how long this will last, maybe forever. Maybe this is it. Maybe I shouldn’t say that. Maybe that will make me stop taking all my meds, start doing drugs and drinking again, inject some chaos into my emaciated existence.
I just want to sleep. I just want to not think or feel. I want oblivion. I want nothingness.
But I can’t.
Because people still love me.
No B, don’t say that—you know what happens when you start thinking this way. You’ll start to sabotage your relationships, force people to hate you, you’ve done it before. Yea, it never worked, but I’m a new me. Maybe this me can weaponize my misery and let loose sadistic salvos.
Nope, can’t do that either.
Because I can’t stop not feeling. I can’t stop not hating myself for every little mistake I make. I won’t survive a major breakup or disownment. Then I’ll be forced to kill myself, that would be the only option. I’d have to appraise my interactions and relationships, calculate the cost of my actions in the short term, approximate the damage I’ll do in the future.
When you look at it that, it’s a no brainer: I should put a gun to my head and become a no brainer. But if I do that, I should put a canvas on the other side and finally finish one painting; the last painting; my gift to the world.
I’m turning into a whiny, emo bitch again. What’s next, put on mascara, and go read Edgar Allen Poe poems in a cemetery?
This is far too long.
I’m going to go give myself some new tattoos.
Don’t pity me, laugh at me, I deserve it.
This blog is just an annoyingly long, poly-chaptered suicide note. The prologue will be written in pencil.
Just kidding, none of this is real, this is Johnny speaking, not B. B’s a pussy, he’ll never go through with it.
Adios, sorry for wasting your time.
I’m in the process of finishing moving into my new place. I should be done by the end of today—though I still have the week’s worth of unpacking left in front of me. I’m living with the same people, my family(best friends), and my niece, so not much will change. My room is newly renovated, upstairs, and far enough away from the other rooms to listen to my music at damn near full blast and have uncomfortably loud sex. It’s a little bigger than my previous room, maybe a few dozen square feet more, and has a better floor plan for my furniture: a king size bed and frame, a book shelf, a work desk, a large dresser, night stand, and love sac for my dogs to fight over; none of which is new. I bought new sheets for my bed, ones with pockets on the sides, and new pillow cases. I never care about new furniture, but you have to buy new sheets when you move.
I’m going to work a few hours OT today; OT that doesn’t end up getting me much more than my pre-Corona wage, but fuck it, why return my/our wages back in full when you can just have your workers do a few hours of OT here and there, while putting intense stress on them to do the work
we they once had 3x more people work on. But hey, at least I have a job, right? One of my friends got furloughed, and is now making more money on unemployment, since the stimulus package adds an extra $600 a week, on top of the $1200 most Americans received. I read an article that listing all the dumb things dumb people have spent their stimulus checks on, and realized, yet again, that my country is at least half retarded. I’m a few iq points above retarded, but even I know that you need to pay off any existing bills, then slap the rest of that money into your savings account, or convert it to gold, not go shopping for dumb, overpriced name brand shoes and clothes and tv’s and other junk that won’t help shit in the coming apocalypse.
I really need to get to writing, I’ve been pretty useless lately, or else I’m going to start to get sad. Every time I stop writing, a little part of me dies. I forget that I have any talent; I convince myself that I can’t write, never could, and never should.
Ah, poor me.
I’ve heard this before,
Stupid, stupid, boring, boring.
Last Friday I made a Quora account to rail some person over something I can’t even remember. Creating the account was beyond a terrible idea. My first question was: Why Do People Hate President Trump for Some of The Same Things President Obama Did? I intentionally didn’t add specifics because I wanted to see how people reacted. Well, it went just as well as you think it would go: painfully boring anti-trump people bashing me for asking such a dumb question, and implying(or explicitly saying) that President Obama never did anything wrong, and definitely did nothing in any fashion close to what President Trump has done, and even dumber anti-Obama people doing the same exact thing, but in a less educated manor. I was tempted to include a sub question to let people know that I dislike President Trump as a political figure and civilian, and how I think President Obama was a legitimately good person, even though I didn’t vote for him once and thought he did some pretty gross things—gross things that are kind of mandatory in this day and age, but gross nonetheless.
After people got done bashing me, they started bashing each other in the comment section of the question. My expectations for a new, unique, and/or intellectually honest answer was low, but even my pessimistic and cynical ass wasn’t prepared for the all the partisan drivel excreted in the comment section.
I should’ve just stopped there.
But after that question, I wanted to know Why are People on Quora so Rude at People for Simply Asking a Question.
Every comment on this question just said that I was whining, and that Quora isn’t for me.
As a mentally unstable person, they were beyond correct.
My next question was something along the lines of Do you think the dishonesty of the mainstream media plays is one of the primary reasons the US is so divided.
This fucking question started me down my three day Quora binge. The answers were too retarded to stand idly by. This, like the first question, was split down the same lines the question pondered. Dumb democrats being apologists for CNN and MSNBC, and dumb republicans being apologists for Fox. NOT ONE PERSON ADMITTED THAT THE MAINSTREAM MEDIA IS A CESSPOOL OF BIASED OPINIONS SOLD AS FACT. I argued with some “Leftist”(self proclaimed), which I don’t think is a bad thing, about MSNBC being just as bad as Fox. I saw that some of his questions involved Noam Chomsky, so I appealed to the concept of Manufacturing Consent. This cocksucker denied that MSNBC is a major player in Manufacturing Consent. Why? Because of partisan goddamn politics.
I should’ve fucking stopped, but I couldn’t.
I can’t remember any of the few dozen questions after that, spanning over 72 hours, but I know nearly every goddamn one of them was answered by the most biased cocksuckers I have ever encountered.
How could it be? I Thought Quora would be a bastion of neutral opinions? Well, I’m retarded for thinking it would be that.
It’s a compartmentalized echo chamber for educated morons.
It really fucked me up mentally.
It made me incredibly sad.
All week was shitty because I kept thinking about how honest discourse is dead, and there’s no way it will ever be revived.
Biden beats Trump, it will still be there.
Trump beats Biden, it will be even worse.
Unfortunately, I think the latter is going to happen, and it terrifies me.
When President Trump got elected, I laughed hysterically. I told everyone around me that we got what we deserve. That President Trump being elected was the result of how disillusioned Americans were(are) after eight years of non-change from President Obama. That, and of course, Hillary being one of the worst politicians to ever run for president. To this day, after the last four annoying years, I think to myself: if I lived in state where there was an actual race between Clinton and President Trump, who would I vote for? I live in California so I didn’t have to make this choice–I voted third party, like every American should if they don’t like the candidates of either party–but what if I lived in a battleground state. Even after the last four years, I can’t outright say that I would vote for Clinton. I don’t know if I would vote for Trump either. Geez, even in politics I’m a coward.
One thing about Hillary, and I’ll leave it be: I think it would be disgrace for such a piece of shit to have the honor of being the First female president. I heard people say they’d vote for her just because she’d be the first female president–the same way people voted for President Obama because he’d be the first black president–but I didn’t hear anybody say that they wouldn’t vote for her because it would disgrace the title of First Female President.
God I fucking hate politics.
God I fucking hate Quora. It’s basically a slightly more intelligent Youtube comment section.
I wound up deleting my Quora; I had to, it was exacerbating my mental health issues.
I’m a shit person—but my one of my only redeeming qualities is that I legitimately try my hardest to always be honest. I expect to be called out when I’m a hypocrite or lying(by omission or explicitly) by my family and friends. I believe that you should be called out, and you shouldn’t take offense to it. But people don’t like admitting they’re wrong, even by their close loved ones. Between cognitive dissonance, Dunning-Kruger, and confirmation bias, we are fucked. We weren’t ready for the internet. There should be some type of test you have to take to use certain parts of the internet. But even that won’t help when the most educated people are equally disingenuous and bias and dishonest and egotistical and vain; when everyone is the thing they hate others for being; when being correct is more important than finding the correct answer.
Almost everything I do involving people ultimately results in me thinking we’re fucked.
Then I think why bother.
Why bother if even those you tend to agree with act dumb and shitty.
I think that civilization was a mistake and could only be justified if we’re able to stop some apocalyptic event, like a mass extinction level asteroid.
Could we finally just admit that humans have done a lot of shitty things, but without those shitty things we might’ve not discovered the necessary technology to save life on earth?
No, that makes too much sense.
We’re too irrational.
Our adrenal glands are too large, and our prefrontal cortex is too small.
Civilization was created by few, built by many, and given to most…and here we are, the most, causing its destruction.
I gotta go finish moving.
Hope you all are less hopeless and depressed than I am.
I don’t have time to spell check this dumb post. Sorry.
I consider myself a pretty passive person. I respect other opinions, and love hearing them, and hate echo chambers, but sometimes the drivel that blasts out of the minds of the ignorant is too toxic and painfully dumb to allow—and just like that, I waste an entire day arguing in comment sections.
favorite primary source of contention involves politics and people spouting racist nonsense.
Politics has been a favorite subject of mine since I was a kid; this is thanks to my father, who claims he isn’t a republican, yet has never voted outside the party. I remember debating my dad about the War on Terror and Iraq war while in middle school. As a veteran of the Vietnam War(I have old parents), my dad has invaluable knowledge about warfare, the political and social ramifications of it, the necessity of it, and when it can and should be avoided. He taught me too much to list, I could write a book on my dad(if I was talented), but one of the best things he taught me was “the most moral action, is not always the correct action”. Now, this is a dangerous concept, I’ll admit, but it’s a sad aspect of life(I’ll go into more detail about this later). As a Vietnam veteran, he experienced a ridiculous amount of hatred when he returned: he got spit on, called baby killer, and constantly harassed; as a result of this, he has a very low opinion of anti-war folks.
Geez, I’m about to ramble–this is why I’ll never be able to write a book.
Chances are, you’d look down on someone who hated anti-war folks. You’d call them a warmonger or chickenhawk or sadist, and a myriad of other pejoratives, but what if I were to tell you that there are valid reasons why the incorrigibly antiwar are dangerous? Since most of you read my blog, you know that I’m a sweetheart—that legit dodges snails when I bike to not kill them and have had shitty days the times I’ve failed at this—but for the new folks: as an individual, I’m as pacifist as much as I possibly can be. I, am many others, are privileged to live in a place where we can be pacifists, but in most of the world this isn’t feasible.
Shit, I started arguing with people while writing this, and completely forgot where I was going. Sorry.
Fucking shit, goddam racists…dumb, goddam racists, fuck fuck fuck, fucking shit, cocksucking, illiterate racists. I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE. At least be smart and racist.
Racists on Youtube, say a lot of dumb shit, but dumb, false shit about history especially annoys me. I was just going to list all the comments I’ve posted, but I’ve been deploying “fucking retarded” a lot this morning.
Blah blah blah.
One day, while my dad and I were driving to work, he told me that I should thank myself for how smart I am. He told me that he was envious of how curious I am. It kind of made me tear up. He also constantly tells me I should be more successful too haha, and is kind of disappointed in me, though he doesn’t say that explicitly. He also isn’t aware of my psyche issues, as he’s the old school, suffer in silence type.
Blah blah blah.
I told my dad that my being not retarded is exactly the result of him raising me. He made me go outside all the time(in the time of the video game industrial complex) and explore and be curious and question things. He’s the only person that I can have productive conversation about politics. We don’t agree on most(?) things, but we think similarly—something I desperately wish I had with someone else. I’m so thankful that I had a somewhat conservative figure in my Silicon Valley life; otherwise, I think I would be wearing a balaclava and firebombing Starbucks(joke NSA).
One of the things my father’s tutelage brought forth is the idea that just because an action is “moral”, doesn’t mean it’s correct. This is an ultra sad aspect of life. You can justify a lot of shit things if you’re not careful. You can create a lot of shitty, appealing thought experiments. One, and I think my readers know me enough for me to be able to say this, is that you can even justify things like slavery, murder and rape, under certain circumstances. This though terrifies me. Granted, the circumstances have to me extreme. One, which one of my friends no longer talks to me for, is a case where rape is justified. That sounds beyond horrible written out. But here’s the circumstance: humanity has died off, leaving only six men and one woman; the woman has my personality and says, “Fuck it, we’re a shit species, we should die off”. Now, as living things, we exist to do one thing: procreate. Would not the correct action be to rape the woman? From a biological standpoint, yes. We have a biological imperative that overrides personal feelings and relative morals. This fucking terrifies me. The thought that this can exist terrifies me. I hope I’m not judged for saying that. As most of you know, I’m a fucking nihilist; if I was the woman, I’d kill the men then enjoy some peace and quiet until I die. But would that be the wrong choice?
I’m glad that I’m known for making the wrong decisions.
I really have no idea where I was going with this, like usual.
Another dumb ramble.
Time to go argue some more with dumb racists.
People with no understanding of rudimentary logic/basic philosophy should not talk about politics. You don’t have to go to school, just learn the basics before bloviating retarded opinions
Flagrant hypocrisy is driving me crazy.
We’re all hypocrites in some way or another, but a lot of people these days seem to not care or understand how hypocritical they are. It’s insane. I can’t comprehend it. Does not compute.
I have to hear quixotic cunts screaming dumb slogans over ivory gated communities on one side
and fundie reactionaries arguing that every social service is leading us down the shitty pathway to communism on the other.
Neither side understands nuance, both sides speak in absolutes.
Both sides point fingers at the other, neither side has self awareness or practice self accountability.
I know I probably sound like an annoying centrist,
but I’m not,
I’m an annoying libertarian(same thing?)…
But that’s only as an individual; as a constituent I’m a grumpy fucking cynic. Humans will always need another to blame….just please try to not sound like a retarded hypocrite while doing it.
Sorry, I just needed to get this out. Between the news, WordPress and Youtube comments, I’ve swallowed enough asinine—I’m going to go throw-up on someone wearing a balaclava.
And sorry about the “R” word, as my lover calls it—I’m trying to work on not using it…other people not acting dumb would help though.