Brain Barf

May contain traces of nuts.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

How to not be angry and bitter FAIL

"A sadly forgotten fact among today’s generation of women is that they survive only on the good humor of men, who, whether in the guise of husbands, fathers, taxpayers or police, have always been and will likely always be the only thing standing between women and a swift and brutal death. The fundamental contract between the sexes is based on women making themselves worth the trouble by giving men something in return for this favor."

Courtesy of Twisty:

P.S. I'll be done with the depressed and RAGE soonish-ish.  Or not.  Maybe.  Monday.

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Saturday, June 18, 2011


Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Que Sera Sera

Thursday, June 09, 2011


Dear Pathetic Weak Guilty Coward,

I eventually hope to be able to co-parent with you in a positive way. 
Not for you or me, but for MY children. 
Right now, I would like you to kill yourself so at least the boys would get social security and not have to deal with your fucked up, broken, roller coaster ride anymore.  Be able to actually grieve, and heal.  Not have the wound opened up every freaking morning, when they wake up, and realize it wasn't a nightmare. 
Could you do that please?
Yeah, I didn't think so. Cowards don't do that.

So for now: I GET to be angry.  I GET to hate your fucking guts for awhile.  I get to call you names and swear at you. 
I SO get to.
You SO deserve it.
I deserve it.

I'm just now past the shock, disbelief and pain, and am on the ANGRY. 
And sometimes RAGE.  
If you pop into my brain, (it takes a while to shed 15 years)  I only see myself pummeling your head (I honestly can't remember what your face looks like)  with a baseball bat to a bloody twitching pulp.  I keep one at the front door in case the opportunity arises. 

But, guilty cowards don't knock on doors, cowards hide in cars and text their children to come out.
Guilty Pathetic Cowards, don't pay child support, and continue to LIE and lie and LIE and lie and blame other people for their problems.

I can already see the indifference coming, and I'm looking forward to it.
I understand? why you did what you did.  Because you are weak and pathetic.
But blaming me?  For being sexually abused as a child, as a way to make yourself feel better about being the PATHETIC CHEATING LIAR you are, is not OK.
Saying that you want to drag me through court and reveal all of my dirty family secrets?
But good.  Because it's made it so much easier to see what you really are...and what you n.e.v.e.r. were.
I'm going to ride with this HATE and RAGE for awhile, because it's part of the process, you deserve it, and I am not a victim, NOT yours or anyone else's. 
And honestly, it feels good and better than the pain and betrayal.

No one gets to break me.
Except myself, and I *like* myself for the first time in 36 years.

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Tuesday, June 07, 2011


"I've never been lonely. I've been in a room -- I've felt suicidal. I've been depressed. I've felt awful -- awful beyond all -- but I never felt that one other person could enter that room and cure what was bothering me...or that any number of people could enter that room. In other words, loneliness is something I've never been bothered with because I've always had this terrible itch for solitude. It's being at a party, or at a stadium full of people cheering for something, that I might feel loneliness. I'll quote Ibsen, "The strongest men are the most alone." I've never thought, "Well, some beautiful blonde will come in here and give me a fuck-job, rub my balls, and I'll feel good." No, that won't help. You know the typical crowd, "Wow, it's Friday night, what are you going to do? Just sit there?" Well, yeah. Because there's nothing out there. It's stupidity. Stupid people mingling with stupid people. Let them stupidify themselves. I've never been bothered with the need to rush out into the night. I hid in bars, because I didn't want to hide in factories. That's all. Sorry for all the millions, but I've never been lonely. I like myself. I'm the best form of entertainment I have. Let's drink more wine!"

-Charles Bukowski -

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Sunday, June 05, 2011

Word Count

I'm afraid.

That all of the keys I press, that turn into words, that form this thing that I do here?
This thing that I've pressed keys into for years now.
Ends up being, just, a lengthy, tedious suicide note.

The best and worst part is, that no one would blame me.


Wednesday, June 01, 2011

Dead Bird