Friday, April 29, 2016

Sonnet #18 (poetry for mothers day.)




Shall I compare thee to a bale of hay?
Thou art more dusty and far less neat.
Rough winds do toss thy mop about, I'd say,
Which looks far worse than hay a horse would eat.
Sometime thy squinty eye looks into mine
Through stringy, greasy hair that needs be trimm'd,
And ne'er a horse had such a stench as thine,
As though in stagnant sewers thou hast swimm'd.
Thy disgusting image shall not fade;
This my tortured mind and soul doth know.
O, I should love to hit thee with a spade;
And with that blow I hope that thou wouldst go.
So long as I can breathe, my eyes can see,
And I can run, I'll stay away from thee...



http://armorgames.com/community/thread/12464446/sonnet-18-shakespeare-parody-originality-contest-win-afg-membership?page=1

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Dennis Rodman

I don't want to detract from Dennis Rodman's trip to North Korea because when you come down to it, it was still a ballsy move for staunch capitalist to visit a staunchly totalitarian dictator who had just executed his own uncle for no reason but to make room at the top. But he cries on camera here and it's JUST like my mother.
Rodman could have easily been taken out and lynched like the People of the United States had no problem doing to his ancestors. I only post this because he nailed my mothers affect down cold.
She cried over the astronauts being burned alive in Apollo 1. She cried after LBJ died of a heart attack. She cried over the guy she killed, moments after she said she would kill him again if she could.
She cried if it was sunny.
She cried if it was rainy.
She cried during a full moon and she cried during an eclipse. She cried any time some else was trying to talk if there was a million to one chance she would lose control of the narrative and she might be exposed for lying, slutty, sack of shit her kids knew her to be.  She could be counted on to cry at every inopportune moment. It hardly ever was the right method under the right circumstance. It just was what it was and what it was was nauseating.
But he has her nailed to a T. I don't think my mother had that many piercings but she's been with her master (the dark lord) for a while now.


Monday, April 25, 2016

Are You Receiving Me

I ain't the most spiritual guy around, and I hate to turn this thing into a music blog, but despite the plethora of sociopath behavior I was exposed to, my well is about run dry.   
I was thinking today about the inevitability we hope exists about the crazies being held accountable for their actions and the best I can do is this. When I die and cross over to where ever it is we go after we die. If there is one question we are asked. And that question is why did we betray everyone we were supposed to have taken care of. I know what my answer will be.  



If your circles could be spirals
And your idols weren't machines
If you could pick up all the signals
And flash on where you've been

Maybe you don't feel it at all
It's your own fault, crawl boy crawl
If you could quit the miming
And try some different timing
You could get a chance to be free

Are you receiving me
(It's the pilot's plea)
Are you receiving me
(Close to insanity)
Are you receiving me
(Recharge your battery)
Ooh, are you receiving me

If your prayers could all be answered
And you were given time to pay
The chances would be so heavy
But you'd find a better way

Maybe you don't feel it at all
It's your own fault, crawl boy crawl
If you could quit the miming
And try some different timing
You could get a chance to be free

Are you receiving me
(It's the pilot's plea)
Are you receiving me
(Close to insanity)
Are you receiving me
(Recharge your battery)

Are you receiving me
(Close to insanity)
Are you receiving me
(Recharge your battery)
Ooh, are you receiving

Are you receiving me
(It's the pilot's plea)
Are you receiving me
(Close to insanity)
Are you receiving me
(Recharge your battery)

Are you receiving me
(Close to insanity)
Are you receiving me
(Or are you out to lunch)
Are you receiving






Saturday, April 9, 2016

Purging the Contents of A Boring Life.



Now I can see that to my ex I was never a husband, and to my mother I was never a son. I was just some dumb fucking rat caught between two psychotic cats and that made me furious. Until I had this epiphany. People pay thousands of dollars a year to unburden themselves of the trappings of success. People bankrupt themselves to climb mountains and pay Sherpa's to haul them and their shit to the four corners of the earth. My ex wife and mother relieved me of the burden of material possessions and did it for free. Up to now, I would have called my life a collection of collections. As a teenager I had an antique bottle collection that was the envy of any person that appreciated antiques. Bottles or other wise. I stumbled upon the long forgotten city dump of my hometown and mined it for all it was worth. 
They were thrown out as soon as we got my father in the ground.  
I had several hundred LP's that got thrown out when I was guest hosting fellow alcoholics in the slammer. 
I had boxes full of African hand carved animals from the 70's. Gone!
Baseball cards.  Gone!
Family pictures. Gone!
Tools that were left with my mother who gave them to my exes boyfriend, who hocked the ones he could hock or tossed them all. 
I am pretty well down to the clothes on my back and a pile of over due credit cards that my ex-wife maxed out and fobbed on me during our divorce. Last I heard the credit card companies were willing to settle for a nickle on the dollar 
My ex got my mothers car, our house, my mothers house and now is some slum lord high priestess.  If she wants to be saddled with plugged toilets and chasing renters down every month more power to her.  Good riddance is what I say.  I saw this and it sums up what it's like to stop living your life by the possessions you own. 
What looks like them screwing me over was really the biggest favor they could have done. My ex can keep ginning through income and paying taxes and snaking out toilets. I can live off the grid and have some freedom for the first time in my life. I think my ex and my mother found a hearse with a luggage rack and  that is a luxury I. Just. Don't. Need. 

.
So I win!

Barb's Dating Service


Wednesday, April 6, 2016

Barb eats a rat.

Hi ......I am Barbara your rat eating candidate for president

In the next episode Barbara rubs shit in her hair.

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

Rebel With a Cause (getting so-called grown ups to leave me the fuck alone)




I sent this clip to a friend to illustrate that Anna Paquin and Diane Lane were in the same movie and did a pretty good job of acting and as I watched them struggle as child and parent I realized that I had no idea how to relate to even a dysfunctional dynamic between a mother and a child. I can relate dozens of superficial stories and spout hundreds of facts about her and us. But while watching this clip I realized I still have no idea who this person was who called herself my mother. That even when she was there, there was no there, there. 
I can tell you what day her birthday fell on, and I can tell you the things that would most likely set her off.   But she had relegated us so thoroughly to props in her show for my father, that outside of that, I really have no clue what she was about as a human. She like to seduce guys that were friends of her husband and she liked to seduce guys that were husbands of her friends. She never held a job and she liked to sit and primp and watch soap opera's and other than that she might as well of been a mannequin.    
   I was e-mailing that same friend and we were discussing  the teenage angst thing and I was telling her that I couldn't quite figure out how my mother who so loved to fight and cause trouble became such a blank slate to me? I watch things about teens asserting their independence and breaking free from the gravity that keeps them bound to their parents and how it stops them from becoming a fully formed adult and I find myself completely confused.  And I think I figured it out. My birthday is on the 17th of July and on September third my father committed suicide and my mother pretty will drove off  and left me at her mothers. So if you really want to cut nuts I was 14 when he died and I literally didn't spend another night under her roof for the next 35 years. I have discussed it with  others and I always say that I missed the whole rebellious youth thing. I just wasn't afforded that luxury. I tell people I would have loved to sulk and yell and be high maintenance, but I would have been rebelling against people that didn't give a shit.  I would have been rebelling against a metaphorical grand canyon and depending on when and where I rebelled I probably wouldn't have  heard my own echo coming back to me.  And there was no guaranty of even that. Which had it's benefits. I was my own captain and did whatever I wanted, while my friends butted heads with their parents and I would try to do the wall paper thing and blend in.



 But for me there was no resistance for me to fight against. I think it was better than worse because I grew up wildly independent and way too young. But no one asked me what my thoughts were. My grandmother started to put me on a short leash the first time or two I came home way late and still very drunk and instead of challenging her I just said really? And with all due respect. My father committed suicide and your daughter just dumped me up here. I was still a polite country boy but I said something to the effect of I'll call you and keep you posted if you want me to, but I want you and the so called grown ups to butt out. If you want me to be accountable you guys need to be accountable to me. I am grossly over stating the conversation. It lasted all of 20 seconds and was the 70's version of really? You know how I got here and if I am acting out, you know why, so  you guys need to pick a side and stick with it. I either matter or I don't and all signals point to I don't so with all due respect leave me alone. Here is a good example of the level of thinking I had foist upon me . I was in school and signed up for an English class that was to teach you how to write term papers So I showed up and said I am going to show up and not disrupt your class but other than that I am not going to do a single thing in here but study for other classes and nothing. And that's just how it was going to be. I don't think I would have authorized myself to be a free agent before all the other, but I was the highest authority and I just didn't take no for an answer. That thinking is just what my default became.

 I had to look out for myself anyway so in my mind that's what I was doing.  All I ever got from the adults was a hard time, so I really don't need it from you (them) so I am just going to study for other classes and that's exactly what I did. She would occasionally try to get me interested and I would respectfully say "you know my position here and you are violating the terms of agreement I stated in the beginning". I am not bothering the other students so until I start disrupting your class you are supposed to leave me alone. She never agreed to those terms they are just ones I stated and vigorously enforced. Back then they had the school year cut in thirds and sometime during the third trimester I figured out I had enough credits to graduate so I told my teacher in study hall that I want to go talk to the councilor which is what I did and told him I am withdrawing and will come back after the year is done and pick up my degree and he said go for it and that's exactly what I did.  I had had all the shit from adults I was going to take and as long as you sold it with authority and did it in a respectful and courteous way there was nothing they could do about it. I didn't ask for these things I just told them how it was going to be. And the option I presented was never up for debate so I did what I wanted and they left me alone.  
It' just was what it was. I remember coming back from San Diego after living with my sister for the immediate time after my fathers death. I had negotiated air fare etc and the cabby wanted 20 dollars to drive me from the airport to the bus station and I told him all I had was a ten and he settled for that and when we got to the bus station I asked him if he could break a 20 because that's all I had. He laughed it off and let me pay him 10. That's just the way it was if I didn't look out for myself no one else was going to step up and take care of my needs, so I did it myself. 

Sunday, April 3, 2016

An empath is a narcissist’s favorite scapegoat Guest post from Elli G


Narcissists love to mess with their children, and these children represent the full spectrum of personality types. An acon is not necessarily someone who was scapegoated though. An acon can be a full blown psychopath, much like my brother who loved to set things on fire and sprinkled our flower pots with pins for the cats to step on so he could laugh at their agonizing pain. An acon can be a narcissist, like my mother who saw her mother being beaten black and blue by her father leading her to multiple miscarriages. An acon can be a highly empathic person, like me who picks up on others’ feelings and experiences them as her own.

The usual dynamic of a narcissistic family involves several enablers who allow abuse to be perpetrated, one or more golden children (or other relatives) that are used as means of aggrandizement by association for the narcs, and at least one scapegoat who serves the purpose of a Kleenex for everyone’s shortcomings. 

Since narcs live in a parallel universe where they love to weave the scenario in which they are protagonists, they get to assign the aforementioned roles to the family members. Now for a scapegoat to be successful in gulping all the criticism, the accusations and the emotional lashings there’s a fundamental quality required. Empathy. The more the empathy the better the scapegoat. The higher the level of kindness the lower one drops in the family’s pecking order. 

This is what gets nice people into trouble in the first place. When you are an empath you pick up on other people’s feelings. You want to make them happy, proud and you literally experience their anger and their disappointment when you allegedly fail to pamper their fragile egos. You put your emotions aside, because you carry that freaking curse of stepping so much into other people’s shoes that you forget to live your own life. 

Narcissists take advantage of that quality and they drain you to such a degree that suicide doesn’t seem like a half bad option. My NM told me that she picked me as her favorite between me and my brother [sic] because I was such a sensitive little girl. True, I bought into every stunt she pulled, all her fake guilt trips, threats, put-downs, rages and belittling by comparison. She used my ability to pick up on every goddamn single feeling and own it so that she could soothe herself by looking at my depressed face. What a juicy, little victim I was…

I guess for many of us who are so badly hurt that was our misdeed. We have the ability to care more than your average person, and to them that’s like the smell of blood to a shark. If we leave, they soon train someone else to fill the humongous shoes we leave behind.

Still, the same quality that bites us in the ass is the key to our healing. Even though we come out beaten-up, depressed, with a touch of cPTSD we can still empathize with the world. We can still love, smile at a kind stranger, laugh with a baby’s grimace, share our stories and help fellow victims of abuse, and eventually feel really good about ourselves. The miserable losers that tortured us never get a taste of that fulfilling sensation; they are doomed to remain empty vessels just making too much ugly noise till the day they die. And I say that serves them right!

Saturday, April 2, 2016

True Crime

I used to joke a lot with my sister about how us killing our mother would have made all of our lives easier. Crime paid for my mother, or should I say her crime made us pay in her stead. But I just saw a pretty good true crime movie about two sisters who had enough of their mothers revolving door of sociopaths and child molesters and living hand to mouth and having one or more parents attempting/threatening suicide and got sick of their mother and decide it would be better for all parties involved if they just reduced the world population by one (their mom) and they feed her pills and drown her in the bathtub. I am pretty sure I started my period before it was over, but at the end there is a haunting Peter Gabriel song that is only sold if you buy the full sound track. Without further adieu I will post the clip that has the longest scrap of that song I can find.  Excuse me while I go take an overdose of Midol and weep into a pair of my wife's pantie hose.


Friday, April 1, 2016

Mom Hates Fags

My mother hated just about everything all the time, but she saved her special reserve hate for gay men. My cousin from my fathers sister was gay but he eventually died from uncontrolled diabetes and my best male friend was gay but died from an accidental drug over dose a few years after my cousin. Why do I bring these two long dead guys up now? Because they both came from two of the most repressed gay hating families that ever lived on the plains of North Texas and both felt comfortable enough around me to test the waters of coming out of the closet to. And while I am thinking about it, not a single one of the group who clamored to gain favor from my mother after I went NC were men, gay, or other wise. They all just happened to be lying conniving, back stabbing bitches.  Buddhists think that the emotions you feel at the time you die is carried into your next life. If this is true, I have a message for you from my mother's festering corpse.