Amiwrite?!

Sitting  in the office before work pushing myself to write something, because I’ve been so horrible with being consistent. And it’s not like this reality is anything new, on the contrary, it’s been something I’ve been battling for years. It’s this thing I like to call “the inability to consistently write about pretty much anything for my Tumblr blog or… ya know insert public writing avenue.” Musing here, I wonder what it is that keeps me from into exercising the one thing that has continuously brought me peace of mind at times and enraged me the next. It’s something that constantly stirs up emotions in me be it good or bad, but it’s something I turn to no matter how I’m feeling. Unless it’s lazy, then all bets are off. However, I find myself barely mustering enough energy to write anything to share on the internet, but then I remember, WTF cares?! 

My terror behind sharing my thoughts on the internet stems from the numerous trolls that live in the bowls of user comments and reddit. It dwells in the fingertips of a-holes and cowards. Though, it also lurks in my own mind, tucked away in the bed of insecurity that has burrowed so deep within in me I sometimes forget its existence and blame my lethargy on the weather. 

Well, I’m tired of making these empty grandiose claims of being more consistent and writing more, because my words mean nothing. Action. Action is everything. I’m slowly figuring out that is the case across all aspects of my life and it’s the simplest yet the hardest concept to grasp. I do a lot of talk. I’m even good at convincing myself that my words are true, which makes it very difficult to improve since I keep telling myself I already have. So, no more being annoyingly untruthful and saying things that ultimately mean nothing because I need to be more impeccable with my words and more actionable with my life. Ha. We’ll see, right?

Right.

Sigh.

Why I Had To Stop Reading Ken Kesey's One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest

I had to put down One Few Over The Cuckoo’s Nest yesterday because of the off-putting way Kesey refers to women and the black characters in his story. Calling the black guys in the book, “the black boys,” and portraying them as these hellish perpetrators of despicable things to helpless patients, using sodomy as a violent act to subdue and torture was appalling. Not only that, but the way the head nurse is described as a “ball cutter,” basically representing a wily feminine force whose only job was to dehumanize and demasculinize every man she came across. It made me wonder about his past and what kind of message he thought he was spreading when he wrote this book. Then it made me think of other authors and whether or not their past or beliefs should weigh heavily on whether or not people appreciate their works. Personally, I usually don’t mind reading books I know unapologetic racists write, because, well, that’s the nature of this damn American Literature canon. A lot of the writers whose prose I respect and admire were downright degenerates and heathens, slaveholders and misogynists but what they wrote was beautiful and devoid of overt tones of bigotry. However, if that shit does decide to pop up and become an unavoidable recurring theme, that’s where I draw the line. 

I have a threshold for bigotry, though it really should be incredibly unacceptable, but I love words. I really do. I love the way writers use words, divorced of their messed up beliefs, in spite of their unsavory lifestyles. I try not to judge people in general so why judge the writers I like, because in the end, you never really know anyone. All you know is what is written about them or what they say fleetingly in an interview or heresy. I get that. But I will be damned if I’m going to sit there and read about a set of “charcoal black boys… shining onyx”  or whatever. I can almost here how much he hates the skin color of my race and it makes my skin crawl. It makes me nauseous to think that this book is taught with such vigor and he’s held in such high regard. It makes me angry, because I actually like the book. I really wanted to read it, but the physical illness and fury that welled up inside of me as I read was something I just could not ignore. So, ef you Kesey. I will not fall into your clutches. Maybe I’ll watch the movie… I do love Jackie.

Instead, I will read Hunter S. Thompson a drunk man I can get behind…. for now.

It's All Been Said Before

It’s devastating events like the abominable, senseless violence in Colorado that force people to lay a scrutinizing eye on our society and truly question what the hell is wrong with the world- when someone attacks a theater full of strangers with seemingly no remorse. When I first heard of the unbelievable act I was at a loss. I didn’t know what to think. What to say, I mean, what the hell could I say? I did however, know what not to say. Jokes about the shooting happened merely minutes after it was reported and I could not tell you the disappoint I felt in humanity. “Too soon?” Yes. Yes, it is and probably always will be “too soon” to make jokes about people getting slaughtered while innocently watching a movie. It will FOREVER be “too soon” for the parents of that poor baby who’s life ended so incredibly soon. In this day in age of fast-paced communication and fleeting regard for, well, tact, it’s still unreal to see how quickly we can move on from things like this. How quickly we fall back into our mundane routines and forget all about how easily it is to attain guns and how quickly lives can just… end. Oh, I’m guilty of it to and this is by no means meant to chastise or judge anyone. This is merely an overwrought observation. What is the appropriate way to respond in a time like this? Do you know? I sure don’t.

Rambling

After months of deliberation I have decided that MAYBE (that’s a strong maybe as you can tell by the all-caps) to have an all text post on my tumblr. Know that as I type this my skin is crawling in disagreement. Yeah, so I’m a little ambivalent… Ok, so I loath the thought. My idea of Tumblr is much like my idea of a friend who you only talk to about certain topics, because, let’s face it, you don’t really care about their opinion on anything else. Tumblr is for pictures, gifs, fun art pieces people create and/or discover, not for long-winded articles about nothing (my specialty). I imagine Tumblr’s face glazing over in horror as I click on the text icon and word after word appears in the “Post” box below the title. Are you seriously doing this right now, Tumblr asks in annoyance. Yeah, it’s really happening right now, I say, even though we both know it’s a mistake. So, I will spare you, Tumblr, from writing any more than this, not only because I am a great friend, but also because I can’t think of anything else to say… 

With that said… er written…

X-men with googly eyes. Classic.