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6aabe8b8f49c8f925a04fbc9a5332dae I had surgery this week and will have more in a few weeks.  Also there are a few outliers – lung tumor? pulmonary nonsense? diminished taste buds? and all manner of nonsense. And I need to make a few bucks to get through this.  Like $1500.  How many pets would I have to sit on to make that kind of money?

How many legal home invasions would I have to commit?

How much can you make giving blood? I don’t think I am in the $1500 area with prostitution anymore and I swore off hired hits in 1999.  My commitment to a better millennium.

I am at a loss.  I can’t even donate anything.  I think my organs have “day old” stickers on them.

Yeah.

(picture has nothing to do with anything.  It’s just cool)

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Rape

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Why is rape not a hate crime?  It is entirely born of hate yet men are convicted and given 3 or 5 years.  The percentage of repeat offenders is pretty high and I could look it up but, you know, do it yourself. 

Some people threw pork at a Holocaust memorial and they are going to charge them with hate crimes and these assholes will get 20 years. For throwing pork at a stone.  I agree that it is a hate crime but if one can serve double digits for pork throwing why should they not be convicted under that same statute for violently attacking a woman, forcing random objects into her, punching out her orbital sockets, videotaping it on an IPhone, having their friends join in, destroying here internally so that she can not have children and taking away her sense of safety for the rest of her life?

When you hold these two incidents up to each other it seems ridiculously biased.  It seems that women are the victims of hate crimes in numbers that far outweigh any other group.  But it’s ok to rape.  It’s ok.

We are a misogynistic society.

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Steal Your Face

large (9)The longer you go without sex, the less it matters.  Women who are undersexed, according to Wikipedia (HA) become exceptional flirts but seldom if ever pull the trigger, as it were.  Sex is fear.   Women who end up in this state have inevitably been denied love and affection from a man/woman with whom they were in love.  They lose confidence from the rejection.  They lose dignity from the crumb crawling.  They lose the “relationship” but never leave it.   The pain of it lingers in a space too difficult to reach.  Human beings can adapt to anything.  Women can adapt to sexless, loveless lives even if it is the thing they want most because of that lingering. I know all about this.

Damaging romantic events, love unreturned can divide one’s life: the time BEFORE it happened, and the time AFTER.  It becomes a landmark on our emotional map.  The time AFTER pulls us down and divides us from trust, love, sex, romantic happiness.  The time before?

Ryan.

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We met 16 years ago and ended a few years later.  And I still miss him though I know he is not long for this world.  He was the true love of my life.  We did a lot of drugs and everyday was a felony.  We took a lot of chances and moved in dangerous circles where one must have money, drugs,  savvy and decent Spanglish to survive it.  Somehow we kept the cable on the whole time.

There were so many laughs, just as many fights,  and endless drug shenanigans that bound us together as partners in crime which seemed more intimate than love. Of course, it all crashed down.

As I got better, he got worse and there was no where to stand without seeing that line between us.  Eventually, I left him – it was not a life for me.  It was a certain death in my mind.  Ryan never thought past the moment he was in so he was never tormented by the inevitability of addiction. The last time I saw him (2012) he was so ravaged from heroin and meth that it was hard to look at him.

This once gorgeous, ballsy, intelligent, loving Dead Head had become a skeleton on the altar of addiction.  He was in the grip of dark evil.  We still had the easy banter and the equally easy silence.  We were happy to have time together but he was a shadow and his sanity had faded considerably.  I was afraid to be around him.   I cut him loose and have not spoken to him since.

I pray for him regularly and I think of him more often than I would like to.  It’s like I am keeping vigil, waiting for word of his death.  Anyone can change, miracles can occur and I am proof.  Jesus could just easily step into his dark night of the soul as He did mine.  Ryan can be salvaged.  But I have found out that there is not much time. He is in worse condition than he was in 2012 and back then his flame was flickering.  My heart hurts and I want to reach out but self-protection is not something you abandon in the name of faith.  I can not save him and I hate it.  I can only pray, ask others to pray and continue to place everything in the hands of Christ.  I feel like this is the first draft of his obituary.

Remember when we say up on New Years Eve 1999 – Y2K?  You said “Well, my beer is empty so that happened.”

How you would get irritated when I struck up little chit chats with strangers in any given line at any given place?

Remember when I finally fell in love with Jerry Garcia’s guitar playing and in exchange you fell in love with DEVO?

Our  NBA obsession?  Crack, heroin, Antoine Walker, The Mavericks – good times.

Remember how everyone was named Flaco?

The ten dollar tickets that wouldn’t stop paying off?

When, after a fight,  Mike Tyson said “my back is broke.  it’s broken.” and we made it our outgoing voice message?

Remember your job where the  Asian chicks did Tai Chi in the parking lot and how hard you worked and how much you loved it?

Packing drugs in fake birthday gifts to go north which always felt like we were taking the same risk one would in fucking Turkey?

Remember the snow storm that  couldn’t keep me from you and all the love peppered between the suffering and withdrawal?

I wonder how many of you have “a Ryan”, bright and dark, woven erratically through the fabric of your life BEFORE.  And how many of you have lost something to your AFTER. 

I don’t think I’ve written a more personal post than this.

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Here Comes The Judge

I judge people.  It doesn’t matter that I have come to believe in Jesus and am trying to live a spiritual life.  That only means that I judge less harshly.  I even judge people who get up for Communion because I know they haven’t been to confession in 20 years.   I loathe dogma but there I am, cloaked in it, walking down the aisle to receive a sacrament while judging the dude next to me and calling him an asshole in my head.  Yeah.  Who’s the one who doesn’t deserve Communion?

I’ve confessed this a couple of times and the priest doesn’t seem to think it is a sin but a character flaw.  What is the difference?  I’ve stopped going to confession because everything I have confessed is just a “character flaw”.  I’m going to need to commit a murder to get some confession cred.

I like to sit in judgment of others and so do you.  YES you do.  Come on now.  But faith in God has given it an aftertaste like drinking beer that’s been in and out of the fridge three times.  God is ruining everything.  I can no longer role around in my defects laughing.  They have all turned to shards of glass and though I have stopped rolling I have not gotten up.  There is glass in my ass.  There is glass in my soul.  I am becoming something better than myself and through no fault of my own.  If I were behind it I would be rolling around in chocolate pudding or vodka.  When you believe in something greater than yourself, you become less to make room for that Greatness.   And I signed on for that.   So really, I should only be judging myself.

In closing, Jobriath was amazing. 

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the bEaT goes on

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Who gets MONO anymore?

Me.  I get mono.  And double pneumonia.  And a host of other medical problems that I won’t get into right now.

On the bright side, I am sane and spiritually healthy enough to deal with it all.  SURE I am a little hysterical but hysteria is one of my endearing qualities.  And no disease is going to bEaT that out of me.

That is all.

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The Way The Truth and The Life

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As we enter Holy Week, today being the day that Jesus entered Jerusalem and willingly went to His death, I remember the miracle in my life.  I was about to die and I felt the hand of Jesus on my head.  I thought it was my stepmother, a true believer in all that Christ has taught.  It was not her.  And I knew I was saved by Jesus.  It is not always easy to say that.  It is not easy to say the NAME of Jesus without being laughed at or at the very least, judged as daft.  But He is real. 

We don’t all get a miracle.  But we all have the choice to follow Him. 

 

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i am henry viii i am

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Ok, Did you watch “The Tudors”?  It was about as historically accurate as Roman Centurions invading Normandy.  It was a hot people sexfest wrapped in wholly ridiculous fashions.  No one was jaundiced.  No one had “the pox”.  It was “Search For Tomorrow, 1535″

Here’s what I know about the reign of Henry VIII.  He didn’t have a six pack.  No man had a six pack in 1537.  They had tooth rot and maybe syphilis but not six packs.  The women were not bone thin with tiny tits parading in gilded gowns that could pass for current day prom dresses.  .  They were “rubenesque” and out of shape and they likely had a festering forest between their legs as opposed to Brazilians so evident on this thing.  Women were a mess downtown.  There was no sanitary protocol.  I don’t even like to think about it.   Everyone smelled back then – but Henry the worst with his open stinking leg ulcer that caused people to vomit into the cloths they carried in his presence. People would inhale halved oranges which they carried on their person.  If caught, I think it would be high treason.  By the time he was approaching 40 he deemed everything high treason.  If you cut a fart in his presence your head would be chopped off. 

He broke with the Catholics for reasons only Queen Anne Boleyn would understand and essentially formed the Protestant faith.  That took balls.  He considered himself a conduit to God.  That took medication that wouldn’t be invented for centuries. Henry was an attractive young man and as proficient at sport as was portrayed n the series however but at the end of his life he was so fucking fat he had to be hauled from room to room in a sedan chair carried by four men.  His coffin was so heavy it was dropped and broke open on the street.  Yeah. That’s hot.

I watched The Tudors the way I used to watch “90210”:  so I could yell at the TV.  I am warming up for my later years.  It was fucking ridiculous.  I mean I am fucking ridiculous. 

Ok I ran out of jokes.  This was a horribly disjointed post. 

 

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