Sunday, September 12, 2010
Monday, September 6, 2010
Friday, September 3, 2010
Lobotomy
The color orange is a metaphor
Butterfly stickers over the florescent light
My mother holding my hand
“It will be over soon.”
The doctor’s fingers
Gloved
Sterile
Cold
The minutes getting shorter
It’s time.
Slides in
Not painful
But uncomfortable
And it’s over.
I’m still sitting here
Studying patches I missed
Shaving my legs
With your name
Etched in my skull.
Butterfly stickers over the florescent light
My mother holding my hand
“It will be over soon.”
The doctor’s fingers
Gloved
Sterile
Cold
The minutes getting shorter
It’s time.
Slides in
Not painful
But uncomfortable
And it’s over.
I’m still sitting here
Studying patches I missed
Shaving my legs
With your name
Etched in my skull.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Legal Guardian
Joshua sat on the soft carpet, playing with his remote control train at his Auntie Laurie’s house. Since he stayed here so often, he had come to think of this as his room. The walls were blue, his favorite color, and there was a rocking chair his size. Joshua loved the bed at Aunt Laurie’s. It was so big that he could lay sideways without his toes going off the edge. The blanket was the same color as the walls, and there were enough pillows to build a really big fort. Joshua especially liked the bed because there weren’t any crumbs in it, like there were at home. Also, he felt grown up sleeping in such a huge bed. His cornflower-colored eyes followed the bright red locomotive as it chugged around the oval track. He imagined the beige carpet to be towns and cities.
Joshua was staying at his Auntie Laurie’s house while his parents were out of town. They were coming back today, so he had to get in as much playing as possible before going home.
He could tell something was wrong the minute Auntie Laurie came into the room because she was crying. Joshua had never seen her cry before, and was very unsettled by his aunt’s sudden change. He tip toed over the train set to her.
“Auntie Laurie?” he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Joshua." His aunt looked into his expectant little face, the face of a happy child. She sat down in the tiny rocking chair and put her head in her hands. Auntie Laurie peered at him through her fingers. There was no more dancing around it. She had to tell him. "It’s your mommy and daddy, sweetie. They were in an accident.” She broke into loud sobs. “They’re gone, Joshua. Your mommy and daddy are never coming back.” Joshua’s little mouth twisted itself around as he tried to comprehend the news.
“No,” he said, “They’re coming back today. Mommy told me so last night. On the phone, remember?” His big blue eyes searched his aunt’s puffy brown ones.
“They can’t come back. They’re gone. Forever.” Her voice broke on the last word.
“No, no! They promised. You don’t break a promise. You can’t break a promise. If you break a promise, you’re a liar!” His tiny hands formed into tiny fists and his face was flushed with frustration. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.” Laurie knelt and drew her young nephew into a hug. They rocked back and forth together on the carpet, as his words became one long howl.
Lauren Miller was thirty-two years old and in no way equipped to take care of a four-year-old child. She was a career driven woman; she had never wanted children, even when she was a little girl. While her sister played house, Laurie would play ‘business woman’, a game that consisted of putting on her mother’s glasses and heels and sitting at her father’s desk. Taking care of Joshua for a couple of days was fine; she could just give him back to his parents when she was tired of him. But now, she was his legal guardian. Legal guardian. What the hell did that even mean, anyway? And beyond having to care for her grieving nephew, she had a double funeral to plan.
***
Laurie woke the next morning with dried tears around her eyes. She sat down at the kitchen table with a phone book and the telephone, and started making calls. She was fried by the time she phoned the florist.
“No. No roses. Daffodils.” Peonies are okay; chrysanthemums are not. “White peonies... Well, get some. I’m not going to have pink and yellow together at my sister and her husband’s funeral.” I don’t care if daffodils are too happy. She would have wanted daffodils. “Thank you. The twelfth. Saint Peter’s Church. Good bye.”
* * *
That night, once Joshua was asleep, Laurie called her boyfriend.
“Yes?” He answered after the fourth ring.
“Hi. It’s Laurie.”
“Oh my god, Laurie. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Karl, I have no idea what I’m going to do with this kid; he lost his parents for Christ’s sake. I know I’m asking a lot, but you’ve just got to help me. I’m a wreck.” There was silence on the other end of the line, and then Karl took a deep breath.
“It’s okay Laurie. Everything’s gonna be okay. Why don’t we take him to the beach? Kids love the beach.”
The intense blue water folded upon itself again and again and again, until it crested and splattered on the sand. A redheaded boy in orange swim trunks loped into the water, splashing and playing. Two seagulls circled him, like doves circling Jesus in a religious painting. On the boy’s face was a look of pure elation. Laurie’s gaze roamed over to Joshua. He was sitting in the hot sand, slimy with sunscreen. Beside him was an upside down blue pail that she had bought yesterday on a whim. Joshua had been making a sand castle, but now he was just staring at the ocean, his little eyes unfocused. A week ago, Joshua would have been frolicking in the water, right along side the boy with the orange swim trunks. But now, he was sitting in the scorching, itchy sand, mere feet from relief, and he didn’t care about any of it.
“What’s wrong with him?” The question shocked Laurie. She looked over at Karl and saw he was expecting an answer.
“What do you think is wrong with him? He’s an orphan now. He’s alone in the world. You have to cut him some slack.”
“I’m just saying: It’s not normal for him to stare off into space like that.”
“Do you know what’s normal for a kid who just lost his parents? Do you? Because you’re a construction worker, not a social worker.”
“Jesus, Laurie. Don’t get so defensive.” His voice was getting louder and people around them started shifting uncomfortably.
“He doesn’t have anybody else to defend him anymore.”
Joshua woke to the knocking of his aunt on his door.
“Joshua, please get up. You have to eat breakfast. We’re supposed to be at the church by eleven. I’ll help you get dressed after you eat and brush your teeth.” He heard her walk away from the door. Joshua rolled over and pulled the covers over his head. He didn’t want to get up. He was still sleepy. Joshua closed his eyes.
Bang, bang, bang. Joshua was jolted back into conciseness.
“Joshua, open this door. I’m not kidding. We have to be there in half an hour. You need to eat breakfast.” Joshua groaned in a way too old and tired for a four-year-old. He slid out of his big bed and plodded across the beige carpet. His train was still set up, but he had not played with it for about a week now. He had stopped playing completely after his parents died. Joshua opened the door to reveal the angry red face of his aunt. She was already dressed. Auntie Laurie was wearing a black suit jacket and skirt. Her hair was done up fancily and she clutched a little black bag as if it would help her get through the day. “Go eat breakfast. Karl’s meeting us there.” Joshua nodded. He liked Karl. Karl always kept his distance around Joshua, and Joshua appreciated it. He did not like having to talk to people. Joshua walked down the hall to the kitchen and fetched a box of sugary cereal from the cupboard. Auntie Laurie didn’t eat breakfast herself, so whenever she had Joshua over, she would bring him to the supermarket and let him choose whatever he wanted. The chocolate rice puffs with marshmallows were soaking in a bowl on the table. He sat there, spooning the cereal into his mouth. Milk was everywhere. It pooled on the table and dribbled down his chin. He could hear Auntie Laurie in his room, moving about. He ate in silence until all there was left in his bowl was a lake of pinkish-brown milk. He left the bowl on the table; Auntie Laurie would take care of it. When he reached his room, he saw the suit laid out on his bed. Joshua had not worn a suit since Uncle Greg and Aunt Shelia’s wedding. He did not want to wear it again. Joshua shook his head. Laurie put her hands on her hips.
“Joshua, take off your pajamas.” He shook his head again, this time more emphatically. He did not want to wear the suit. “Joshua, I am so tired of putting up with your nonsense. Take your pajamas off.” Joshua put his hands on his hips, mimicking his aunt. Like a viper attacking a mouse, her hand reached out and snatched his little arm. She then proceeded to pull of his pajama shirt. Joshua squirmed and squeaked in protest. Joshua fell to the floor with a thunk as she yanked his pants down. She stood over him with her arms crossed. Joshua was crying now, more with frustration than anything else. He sniffed. She held out his shirt and he put his arms through the holes. As she buttoned up the shirt, he could see her eyes were wet too.
They did not speak on the car ride to the church. Joshua sat in the backseat, looking at his shoes and resenting Auntie Laurie. She had never been like this before. He used to love Auntie Laurie. He used to wish he could live at her house all the time. Faced with the reality, however, he was not happy about it.
They pulled into the parking lot of Saint Peter’s with one minute to spare. Laurie parked the car, and Joshua unbuckled himself and opened the door. Laurie mused that he was becoming more independent all the time. Well, it was probably a good thing; if she was going to take care of him, it would be good that she didn’t have to wipe his nose every four seconds. Karl stood in the doorway of the church, one hand in the pocket of his dress pants. His shoulders were slightly hunched and he kept glancing at his watch. Relief flooded his face the moment he saw Laurie.
“We’ve been waiting for you.”
“Sorry, we had some problems getting ready.” He kissed her and Joshua gave them a dark look. Karl laughed uncomfortably. The three entered the church together, Laurie clinging to Karl’s arm and Joshua trailing behind. Laurie could feel the burning heat of all the eyes on her. It made her want to curl up, right then and there, and never move again. As they slid into the front pew, she heard murmuring behind her, which she imagined to be:
“That poor little boy, no one left in the world but his incompetent aunt.”
“How is she going to raise him? She knows nothing about children.”
“I bet they were late because she was at a loss as to how to help him get ready.” Judgmental old women with short white hair and thin lips. Women who loved to criticize the younger women, but would never lift a finger to help. She could picture them behind her, in their three-piece pantsuits. Beside her, Karl nodded at the priest, who began the service. He had a thin voice that was easy to tune out. Laurie focused on the caskets in front of her. They were cherry with ornate copper handles. Picking them out had been one of the worst experiences of her life. They were both closed, since the corpses had been left mangled and burnt by the crash. Laurie had been so thankful she did not have to identify them; the police had used dental records. She was abruptly pulled back into the present when Karl squeezed her hand. She looked over at him and thought, in a rather detached manner, that it was nice of him to come. This was no longer her sister and brother-in-law’s funeral. The little boy sitting next to her was no longer her orphaned nephew. She was no longer Laurie Miller. She was separate, in a blissful, almost insane way. She waded through the praying and singing, kneeling and mumbling obediently along with the rest of the congregation. The service ended and someone took her by the hand. She was completely unaware of who was leading her and why, but she followed like an obedient child being led to safety. She looked around and found herself in the back seat of a car with Karl. It rolled to a stop and someone helped Laurie out. There it was. The cemetery.
Joshua stood at his parents’ gravesites and frowned. He still wasn’t completely sure what was going on. All he knew was, he was wearing a stuffy suit, the church had been hot and he had gotten bored and fidgety. No one had explained to him that his parents were in the boxes, so he was confused by the current activities. Then he saw Auntie Laurie, standing across the holes from him and leaning on Karl. She looked so lost and scared, that he wanted to comfort her. He walked around the pits that reminded him of twin beds and stood before her. She did not see him, so he took her hand. Auntie Laurie looked down and finally saw him, for the first time in a week. She knelt and gave him a hug as his parents’ coffins were lowered gently into the ground.
The next day, Laurie did not want to get out of bed. She lay there; just breathing and telling herself it everything was going to be fine when the phone rang. Rolling over, she picked it up off its cradle.
“Laurie?” It was Karl. He sounded sad.
“Yes?”
“I can’t do this. I can’t be this boy’s father. I hate kids. I think we should stop seeing each other. Just for a while.” Her stomach clenched as the words tumbled out of his mouth.
“You don’t understand. I can’t do this alone, Karl.”
“Yes you can.” She hung up the phone. Then she saw the little figure in the doorway.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. Joshua did not say anything. He simply crawled into her bed and she put her arms around him. His feet were cold. “You’re all I have now,” she thought.
Joshua was staying at his Auntie Laurie’s house while his parents were out of town. They were coming back today, so he had to get in as much playing as possible before going home.
He could tell something was wrong the minute Auntie Laurie came into the room because she was crying. Joshua had never seen her cry before, and was very unsettled by his aunt’s sudden change. He tip toed over the train set to her.
“Auntie Laurie?” he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Joshua." His aunt looked into his expectant little face, the face of a happy child. She sat down in the tiny rocking chair and put her head in her hands. Auntie Laurie peered at him through her fingers. There was no more dancing around it. She had to tell him. "It’s your mommy and daddy, sweetie. They were in an accident.” She broke into loud sobs. “They’re gone, Joshua. Your mommy and daddy are never coming back.” Joshua’s little mouth twisted itself around as he tried to comprehend the news.
“No,” he said, “They’re coming back today. Mommy told me so last night. On the phone, remember?” His big blue eyes searched his aunt’s puffy brown ones.
“They can’t come back. They’re gone. Forever.” Her voice broke on the last word.
“No, no! They promised. You don’t break a promise. You can’t break a promise. If you break a promise, you’re a liar!” His tiny hands formed into tiny fists and his face was flushed with frustration. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.” Laurie knelt and drew her young nephew into a hug. They rocked back and forth together on the carpet, as his words became one long howl.
Lauren Miller was thirty-two years old and in no way equipped to take care of a four-year-old child. She was a career driven woman; she had never wanted children, even when she was a little girl. While her sister played house, Laurie would play ‘business woman’, a game that consisted of putting on her mother’s glasses and heels and sitting at her father’s desk. Taking care of Joshua for a couple of days was fine; she could just give him back to his parents when she was tired of him. But now, she was his legal guardian. Legal guardian. What the hell did that even mean, anyway? And beyond having to care for her grieving nephew, she had a double funeral to plan.
***
Laurie woke the next morning with dried tears around her eyes. She sat down at the kitchen table with a phone book and the telephone, and started making calls. She was fried by the time she phoned the florist.
“No. No roses. Daffodils.” Peonies are okay; chrysanthemums are not. “White peonies... Well, get some. I’m not going to have pink and yellow together at my sister and her husband’s funeral.” I don’t care if daffodils are too happy. She would have wanted daffodils. “Thank you. The twelfth. Saint Peter’s Church. Good bye.”
* * *
That night, once Joshua was asleep, Laurie called her boyfriend.
“Yes?” He answered after the fourth ring.
“Hi. It’s Laurie.”
“Oh my god, Laurie. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Karl, I have no idea what I’m going to do with this kid; he lost his parents for Christ’s sake. I know I’m asking a lot, but you’ve just got to help me. I’m a wreck.” There was silence on the other end of the line, and then Karl took a deep breath.
“It’s okay Laurie. Everything’s gonna be okay. Why don’t we take him to the beach? Kids love the beach.”
The intense blue water folded upon itself again and again and again, until it crested and splattered on the sand. A redheaded boy in orange swim trunks loped into the water, splashing and playing. Two seagulls circled him, like doves circling Jesus in a religious painting. On the boy’s face was a look of pure elation. Laurie’s gaze roamed over to Joshua. He was sitting in the hot sand, slimy with sunscreen. Beside him was an upside down blue pail that she had bought yesterday on a whim. Joshua had been making a sand castle, but now he was just staring at the ocean, his little eyes unfocused. A week ago, Joshua would have been frolicking in the water, right along side the boy with the orange swim trunks. But now, he was sitting in the scorching, itchy sand, mere feet from relief, and he didn’t care about any of it.
“What’s wrong with him?” The question shocked Laurie. She looked over at Karl and saw he was expecting an answer.
“What do you think is wrong with him? He’s an orphan now. He’s alone in the world. You have to cut him some slack.”
“I’m just saying: It’s not normal for him to stare off into space like that.”
“Do you know what’s normal for a kid who just lost his parents? Do you? Because you’re a construction worker, not a social worker.”
“Jesus, Laurie. Don’t get so defensive.” His voice was getting louder and people around them started shifting uncomfortably.
“He doesn’t have anybody else to defend him anymore.”
Joshua woke to the knocking of his aunt on his door.
“Joshua, please get up. You have to eat breakfast. We’re supposed to be at the church by eleven. I’ll help you get dressed after you eat and brush your teeth.” He heard her walk away from the door. Joshua rolled over and pulled the covers over his head. He didn’t want to get up. He was still sleepy. Joshua closed his eyes.
Bang, bang, bang. Joshua was jolted back into conciseness.
“Joshua, open this door. I’m not kidding. We have to be there in half an hour. You need to eat breakfast.” Joshua groaned in a way too old and tired for a four-year-old. He slid out of his big bed and plodded across the beige carpet. His train was still set up, but he had not played with it for about a week now. He had stopped playing completely after his parents died. Joshua opened the door to reveal the angry red face of his aunt. She was already dressed. Auntie Laurie was wearing a black suit jacket and skirt. Her hair was done up fancily and she clutched a little black bag as if it would help her get through the day. “Go eat breakfast. Karl’s meeting us there.” Joshua nodded. He liked Karl. Karl always kept his distance around Joshua, and Joshua appreciated it. He did not like having to talk to people. Joshua walked down the hall to the kitchen and fetched a box of sugary cereal from the cupboard. Auntie Laurie didn’t eat breakfast herself, so whenever she had Joshua over, she would bring him to the supermarket and let him choose whatever he wanted. The chocolate rice puffs with marshmallows were soaking in a bowl on the table. He sat there, spooning the cereal into his mouth. Milk was everywhere. It pooled on the table and dribbled down his chin. He could hear Auntie Laurie in his room, moving about. He ate in silence until all there was left in his bowl was a lake of pinkish-brown milk. He left the bowl on the table; Auntie Laurie would take care of it. When he reached his room, he saw the suit laid out on his bed. Joshua had not worn a suit since Uncle Greg and Aunt Shelia’s wedding. He did not want to wear it again. Joshua shook his head. Laurie put her hands on her hips.
“Joshua, take off your pajamas.” He shook his head again, this time more emphatically. He did not want to wear the suit. “Joshua, I am so tired of putting up with your nonsense. Take your pajamas off.” Joshua put his hands on his hips, mimicking his aunt. Like a viper attacking a mouse, her hand reached out and snatched his little arm. She then proceeded to pull of his pajama shirt. Joshua squirmed and squeaked in protest. Joshua fell to the floor with a thunk as she yanked his pants down. She stood over him with her arms crossed. Joshua was crying now, more with frustration than anything else. He sniffed. She held out his shirt and he put his arms through the holes. As she buttoned up the shirt, he could see her eyes were wet too.
They did not speak on the car ride to the church. Joshua sat in the backseat, looking at his shoes and resenting Auntie Laurie. She had never been like this before. He used to love Auntie Laurie. He used to wish he could live at her house all the time. Faced with the reality, however, he was not happy about it.
They pulled into the parking lot of Saint Peter’s with one minute to spare. Laurie parked the car, and Joshua unbuckled himself and opened the door. Laurie mused that he was becoming more independent all the time. Well, it was probably a good thing; if she was going to take care of him, it would be good that she didn’t have to wipe his nose every four seconds. Karl stood in the doorway of the church, one hand in the pocket of his dress pants. His shoulders were slightly hunched and he kept glancing at his watch. Relief flooded his face the moment he saw Laurie.
“We’ve been waiting for you.”
“Sorry, we had some problems getting ready.” He kissed her and Joshua gave them a dark look. Karl laughed uncomfortably. The three entered the church together, Laurie clinging to Karl’s arm and Joshua trailing behind. Laurie could feel the burning heat of all the eyes on her. It made her want to curl up, right then and there, and never move again. As they slid into the front pew, she heard murmuring behind her, which she imagined to be:
“That poor little boy, no one left in the world but his incompetent aunt.”
“How is she going to raise him? She knows nothing about children.”
“I bet they were late because she was at a loss as to how to help him get ready.” Judgmental old women with short white hair and thin lips. Women who loved to criticize the younger women, but would never lift a finger to help. She could picture them behind her, in their three-piece pantsuits. Beside her, Karl nodded at the priest, who began the service. He had a thin voice that was easy to tune out. Laurie focused on the caskets in front of her. They were cherry with ornate copper handles. Picking them out had been one of the worst experiences of her life. They were both closed, since the corpses had been left mangled and burnt by the crash. Laurie had been so thankful she did not have to identify them; the police had used dental records. She was abruptly pulled back into the present when Karl squeezed her hand. She looked over at him and thought, in a rather detached manner, that it was nice of him to come. This was no longer her sister and brother-in-law’s funeral. The little boy sitting next to her was no longer her orphaned nephew. She was no longer Laurie Miller. She was separate, in a blissful, almost insane way. She waded through the praying and singing, kneeling and mumbling obediently along with the rest of the congregation. The service ended and someone took her by the hand. She was completely unaware of who was leading her and why, but she followed like an obedient child being led to safety. She looked around and found herself in the back seat of a car with Karl. It rolled to a stop and someone helped Laurie out. There it was. The cemetery.
Joshua stood at his parents’ gravesites and frowned. He still wasn’t completely sure what was going on. All he knew was, he was wearing a stuffy suit, the church had been hot and he had gotten bored and fidgety. No one had explained to him that his parents were in the boxes, so he was confused by the current activities. Then he saw Auntie Laurie, standing across the holes from him and leaning on Karl. She looked so lost and scared, that he wanted to comfort her. He walked around the pits that reminded him of twin beds and stood before her. She did not see him, so he took her hand. Auntie Laurie looked down and finally saw him, for the first time in a week. She knelt and gave him a hug as his parents’ coffins were lowered gently into the ground.
The next day, Laurie did not want to get out of bed. She lay there; just breathing and telling herself it everything was going to be fine when the phone rang. Rolling over, she picked it up off its cradle.
“Laurie?” It was Karl. He sounded sad.
“Yes?”
“I can’t do this. I can’t be this boy’s father. I hate kids. I think we should stop seeing each other. Just for a while.” Her stomach clenched as the words tumbled out of his mouth.
“You don’t understand. I can’t do this alone, Karl.”
“Yes you can.” She hung up the phone. Then she saw the little figure in the doorway.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. Joshua did not say anything. He simply crawled into her bed and she put her arms around him. His feet were cold. “You’re all I have now,” she thought.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
rant
I apologize for this sudden explosion of my opinions, but I just feel the need to put them out there, no matter if they change anyone else's view or not.
First of all, gays, lesbians, bi-sexual, and trans-sexual individuals are PEOPLE. People are entitled to rights. These rights include the ability to not be discriminated against. I know some people are made uncomfortable by these people and believe their discomfort is a valid reason to deny these people certain privileges. Some people use their religion as an excuse to discriminate against these people. "The Bible says gay sex is a sin!!!" And they point out one certain passage. I have read this passage. The passages surrounding it refer to wearing two different types of fabric at the same time as a sin, as well as eating pork. So if you're eating a hot dog right now and wearing cotton and rayon, you're as bad as a man who has sex with another man in God's eyes.
BUT, YOUR BIBLE SHOULD HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH THE CONSTITUTION. Say what you want, but this country was founded on religious freedom. Not the freedom to be whatever approved denomination of Christianity you want, but complete and total religious freedom.
And one more thing. Remember slavery? People used the Bible to defend that as well. Remember when women had no rights? Well, the Bible says women are inferior.
So please, keep your "holy book" out of policy. How would you feel if it was used to discriminate against you?
Now, onto the myth that legalizing gay marriage is going to destroy the family as we know it. First of all who are you to say what a family is? Sometimes, the dad leaves and it's just a mom and a kid. Sometimes, the parents die and the kids have to live with grandparents or an aunt or uncle. Sometimes people can't, or decide not to, have their own kids and decide to adopt or have foster kids. Sometimes people are thrown out of their biological family and make a family of close friends. Are any of these not a family? Who says what a family is? Some people say the sole purpose of a family is to procreate. I disagree. I think the purpose of a family is to have people who will love you no matter what and whom you can depend on. And who is to say whom you can or can't love?
Oh, and having a male and a female parent doesn't make your life better, necessarily. My parents for a long time didn't love each other. They're working on it now, but all through my childhood, I could tell that they couldn't stand one another. I used to wish they would get divorced. I would rather have two parents of the same sex who loved each other than one of each who didn't. Because what are you teaching your kids if you don't love your husband or wife? Besides setting them up for severe anxiety and depression, you're teaching them that hate is okay. That hate is a part of life.
I really wish we could banish hate. Hate is the worst thing humans ever came up with. It's even worse when we start to believe our hate towards people is justified, by saying God hates them too. I read this very powerful line in a book once, said by a gay priest named Tom "It is safe to say you created God in your own image when it turns out God hates all the same people you do." Makes you think, doesn't it? So to all you Bible thumpers who I sometimes wish would go fall through a bunch of operating chainsaws, I love you.
Okay, I have concluded my rant. My blood has cooled down to a simmer. I think I can go back to minding my own business now.
Oh, one more thing. Please don't pray that I will "see the error of my ways" and start to think like you. I don't care if I go to hell for this, but I really do believe that it's okay to be with the person you love, no matter what is or isn't in their pants.
First of all, gays, lesbians, bi-sexual, and trans-sexual individuals are PEOPLE. People are entitled to rights. These rights include the ability to not be discriminated against. I know some people are made uncomfortable by these people and believe their discomfort is a valid reason to deny these people certain privileges. Some people use their religion as an excuse to discriminate against these people. "The Bible says gay sex is a sin!!!" And they point out one certain passage. I have read this passage. The passages surrounding it refer to wearing two different types of fabric at the same time as a sin, as well as eating pork. So if you're eating a hot dog right now and wearing cotton and rayon, you're as bad as a man who has sex with another man in God's eyes.
BUT, YOUR BIBLE SHOULD HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH THE CONSTITUTION. Say what you want, but this country was founded on religious freedom. Not the freedom to be whatever approved denomination of Christianity you want, but complete and total religious freedom.
And one more thing. Remember slavery? People used the Bible to defend that as well. Remember when women had no rights? Well, the Bible says women are inferior.
So please, keep your "holy book" out of policy. How would you feel if it was used to discriminate against you?
Now, onto the myth that legalizing gay marriage is going to destroy the family as we know it. First of all who are you to say what a family is? Sometimes, the dad leaves and it's just a mom and a kid. Sometimes, the parents die and the kids have to live with grandparents or an aunt or uncle. Sometimes people can't, or decide not to, have their own kids and decide to adopt or have foster kids. Sometimes people are thrown out of their biological family and make a family of close friends. Are any of these not a family? Who says what a family is? Some people say the sole purpose of a family is to procreate. I disagree. I think the purpose of a family is to have people who will love you no matter what and whom you can depend on. And who is to say whom you can or can't love?
Oh, and having a male and a female parent doesn't make your life better, necessarily. My parents for a long time didn't love each other. They're working on it now, but all through my childhood, I could tell that they couldn't stand one another. I used to wish they would get divorced. I would rather have two parents of the same sex who loved each other than one of each who didn't. Because what are you teaching your kids if you don't love your husband or wife? Besides setting them up for severe anxiety and depression, you're teaching them that hate is okay. That hate is a part of life.
I really wish we could banish hate. Hate is the worst thing humans ever came up with. It's even worse when we start to believe our hate towards people is justified, by saying God hates them too. I read this very powerful line in a book once, said by a gay priest named Tom "It is safe to say you created God in your own image when it turns out God hates all the same people you do." Makes you think, doesn't it? So to all you Bible thumpers who I sometimes wish would go fall through a bunch of operating chainsaws, I love you.
Okay, I have concluded my rant. My blood has cooled down to a simmer. I think I can go back to minding my own business now.
Oh, one more thing. Please don't pray that I will "see the error of my ways" and start to think like you. I don't care if I go to hell for this, but I really do believe that it's okay to be with the person you love, no matter what is or isn't in their pants.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Shitfuckbitchcunt
I get the idea that everyone lately has been cutting off connection with me. I don't know what I am doing that is so repulsive, but it's really starting to take a toll. With people shutting me out, I feel even more lonely than I do usually. It hurts. I don't have any idea what to do. I guess some people are assholes and I have to deal with that. This is ridiculous.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Essay
Some of the names have been changed.
I am going to tell you a story about a beautiful, wonderful, excellent boy who ruined my life. He is the reason I tried to kill myself a couple days ago. I met Kyle my senior year of high school. We were in math class together. I had known of him before I met him. Everybody knew Kyle. He had an infectious personality and stood out because he wasn’t afraid to be himself. With a shock of red hair and soft facial features, he wasn’t exactly attractive. I, however, spent so many hours studying his face, tracing its lines, memorizing its shapes, focusing on the parts that were beautiful, disregarding the flaws, that he became the most gorgeous person in the world to me. At the time I met him, Kyle was going out with this girl named Melissa. I won’t go into detail about her, except to say that she hated me, because anything I would say would be unfavorable. Anyway, after the nasty break-up, Kyle and I began spending more time together. He was the biggest flirt you could imagine, but it still took him forever to ask me out. He did so by writing a poem and buying me a book I had told him I wanted to read. I swear I never meant to fall in love with the boy. I was engaged in a complicated, long distance affair at the time with one of my best friends. Joe was actually the one who made up my mind to say yes to Kyle. He wasn’t expecting me to fall in love either. But I did.
I remember one day in particular. We had decided to go on a walk in the woods, and were making out in his car. He pulled my hand down his pants. It was the first time I had ever touched a penis, and I made him come. It is a powerful feeling, and it makes me feel potent every time. There is no more vulnerable time for a man, and at that point, if only for one night, he is mine.
I had kissed Joe, but Kyle had the special privilege of taking my virginity. Honestly, I was so horny at the time, that I would have fucked anything. I remember the afternoon distinctly. We were watching one of my favorite movies, Gone With the Wind, and the sex was so awkward and humiliating and downright bad, that I kept watching the movie during. He was appalled when I told him this. I thought maybe one day we could use this story to gross out our kids and discourage them from having sex, but I guess not. I’ll probably use it anyway. Well, the sex got better, and I actually got pretty good at blowjobs, due to his inability to abstain during my monthly visits from the red monster. I hope I was good enough that he’ll be disappointed the next time he receives oral sex. I like to hope a lot of awful things happen to him, but I never hope he dies. The reason for this is two fold. One, I want him to suffer as long as possible. Two, I don’t want his family to have to go through that. Kyle has one of those families that you desperately wish you could have been born into. Kyle’s family is cool. His mom, Simone, is a kindergarten teacher with multiple piercings in each ear and who loves Alice in Wonderland—the book, not the Disney rendition. She uses the word “fuck”, as long as it’s not in front of her seven year old. She listens to good music and wears her pants at her hips, not her waist, thank you very much. Her only flaw in my mind is that she raised a son who can’t make up his mind. More on that later. Earl, Kyle’s father, has to be one of the most laid back people I have ever met. He’s a chemist and a great cook. I don’t know if those two are related, but I suspect they are. Iris, the aforementioned seven year old, reminds my mom of a pixie. She has energy to spare and is smarter than a lot of the people who graduated from my high school, in my opinion. One of the worst parts of the break up is I won’t get to see her anymore. With Kyle’s nuclear family comes a plethora of aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, great-grandparents, and great-aunts and uncles. A personal favorite of mine is the great-uncle who looks like he glued a carpet to his chest. He smacked me on the butt with a serving spoon at Easter. They’re some of the nicest people you’ll ever meet, and I had a great time getting to know them.
The first break up was bad too. Not this bad, because nobody caught me cutting and I didn’t try to die. It wasn’t good, but I didn’t want to die. It was a total shock. He was supposed to come home that weekend and we were going to go to the Renaissance Fair. But, a couple days before he was due to return, he called me up. I could tell he was sad about something by his voice. I babbled like an idiot about how much fun we were going to have that weekend. I was happy he was coming home. Then he said it. “It’s not working.” I’m not proud of how I sobbed. I cried like a baby whose mother had just stuck with a pin. It was mostly shock, partially rage. He asked me not to hurt myself. That really set me off. Who the hell was he to try to tell me what to do? I stopped crying then. There was too much anger. Then he said something that made me start wailing again. He said, “I love you”. A week later, he came crawling aback on his belly like a remorseful toddler. I took him back. Worst decision of my life. Sure, we had some good times after this, but the second time he dumped me, it was like he had strapped an atom bomb to my back and started running. It was at the worst possible time, too. Right before classes started. Indeed, the night before classes started. It was then that he killed me. I had been having a great day. I had exercised, met my nice roommates, and settled into my new home. I knew something was wrong by his voice again, but I didn’t put the pieces together until he said, “It’s not working.” Apparently, he felt apart from me, and this was his solution, to just end it. He didn’t even talk to me about it, just decided on his own that I was no longer girlfriend material. What really pisses me off is how he tried so hard to make it work with Melissa before they broke up, but with me, it was a snap decision. No second guesses. This time, he didn’t ask me not to hurt myself. This time, he didn’t say he loved me. It was over. For the next few days, I clung to hope that he would ask me back, just so I could say “no” and spit in his face. But he didn’t. Apparently, there is another girl who caught his eye. I promised myself I wouldn’t cut over him, because he wasn’t worth it. Then I started cutting again, not because of him, or at least that’s what I told myself. Then I stopped lying to myself.
I slept with a guy and told him about it to make him jealous. I didn’t do it to make him jealous, though. I did it because I wanted to and was horny. Anyway, when I told him, he called me a slut. We got into our first-ever fight. I pulled my punches, though. I didn’t tell him that every orgasm was a lie, or that the consensus among my friends here is that he looks like a child molester. I doubt he did me the same courtesy. Anyway, feeling started piling up and one day, I decided to kill myself. One more thing I fail at is suicide. I could see my veins, but I couldn’t cut deep enough to nick them. I told Kyle, because I wanted him to suffer. Instead of man up and deal with it himself, he called Ella. Now Ella and I are best friends, but didn’t want to talk to her at that point, because I knew she would talk me down. She wanted me to call 911. There was no way I was doing that. I didn’t want to go to the hospital. Then my roommate came home, and I was afraid she would send me there if she knew what I was trying to do. So I went over to Jamie’s dorm room. Jamie is my boyfriend, but we had only met a couple of days before and got into a relationship the day before. So he was skeptical when Ella called and told him to call 911. Then he saw all the cuts. He yelled at me and held me close and called 911. That was the first time in my life that the sirens were for me. Usually, when I hear sirens, I pray a little for the person they’re coming for. Even though I don’t really believe in God. When the paramedics go there, they decided I didn’t need an ambulance. There were about seven people in the room, and I asked one of them, “Why are there so many people here.” She said, “This is just everybody who comes.” They had me sign a form refusing service and left. I went in the back of a squad car to the hospital. The cop sounded exactly like Cleveland from Family Guy. He stayed with me almost the entire time. The ER Nurse referred to my cuts as “scratches”. That really upset me. I had tried to kill myself, and she called them “scratches”. I didn’t say anything though. That sure would upset them, wouldn’t it? “I tried the best I could, Nurse!” Cleveland and I got shown to a small room with two chairs and a hospital bed. We waited for about three hours. I don’t know why they make you wait so long in the ER for mental health related things. I suspect it’s to calm you down so you don’t attack them when they try to talk to you. Well, I wasn’t going to get committed that night, I decided. So I put on my best face and told the doctors I felt much better. That’s my one talent, is making people believe I’m fine when I’m not. Aly and Greg came to pick me up around midnight. Aly told me to call Dr. Natvig in the morning, and I did. Lo and behold, he said I should go to the hospital again. Aly came with this time. It took just as long.
Being in the hospital didn’t help one bit. They brought me in, did intake, and less than 48 hours later, I was free to go. And I still want to stick a fork in the electrical socket. That just goes to show you. The most therapeutic thing I did there was to start writing this. Well, there you have it. The story of the boy who killed me.
I am going to tell you a story about a beautiful, wonderful, excellent boy who ruined my life. He is the reason I tried to kill myself a couple days ago. I met Kyle my senior year of high school. We were in math class together. I had known of him before I met him. Everybody knew Kyle. He had an infectious personality and stood out because he wasn’t afraid to be himself. With a shock of red hair and soft facial features, he wasn’t exactly attractive. I, however, spent so many hours studying his face, tracing its lines, memorizing its shapes, focusing on the parts that were beautiful, disregarding the flaws, that he became the most gorgeous person in the world to me. At the time I met him, Kyle was going out with this girl named Melissa. I won’t go into detail about her, except to say that she hated me, because anything I would say would be unfavorable. Anyway, after the nasty break-up, Kyle and I began spending more time together. He was the biggest flirt you could imagine, but it still took him forever to ask me out. He did so by writing a poem and buying me a book I had told him I wanted to read. I swear I never meant to fall in love with the boy. I was engaged in a complicated, long distance affair at the time with one of my best friends. Joe was actually the one who made up my mind to say yes to Kyle. He wasn’t expecting me to fall in love either. But I did.
I remember one day in particular. We had decided to go on a walk in the woods, and were making out in his car. He pulled my hand down his pants. It was the first time I had ever touched a penis, and I made him come. It is a powerful feeling, and it makes me feel potent every time. There is no more vulnerable time for a man, and at that point, if only for one night, he is mine.
I had kissed Joe, but Kyle had the special privilege of taking my virginity. Honestly, I was so horny at the time, that I would have fucked anything. I remember the afternoon distinctly. We were watching one of my favorite movies, Gone With the Wind, and the sex was so awkward and humiliating and downright bad, that I kept watching the movie during. He was appalled when I told him this. I thought maybe one day we could use this story to gross out our kids and discourage them from having sex, but I guess not. I’ll probably use it anyway. Well, the sex got better, and I actually got pretty good at blowjobs, due to his inability to abstain during my monthly visits from the red monster. I hope I was good enough that he’ll be disappointed the next time he receives oral sex. I like to hope a lot of awful things happen to him, but I never hope he dies. The reason for this is two fold. One, I want him to suffer as long as possible. Two, I don’t want his family to have to go through that. Kyle has one of those families that you desperately wish you could have been born into. Kyle’s family is cool. His mom, Simone, is a kindergarten teacher with multiple piercings in each ear and who loves Alice in Wonderland—the book, not the Disney rendition. She uses the word “fuck”, as long as it’s not in front of her seven year old. She listens to good music and wears her pants at her hips, not her waist, thank you very much. Her only flaw in my mind is that she raised a son who can’t make up his mind. More on that later. Earl, Kyle’s father, has to be one of the most laid back people I have ever met. He’s a chemist and a great cook. I don’t know if those two are related, but I suspect they are. Iris, the aforementioned seven year old, reminds my mom of a pixie. She has energy to spare and is smarter than a lot of the people who graduated from my high school, in my opinion. One of the worst parts of the break up is I won’t get to see her anymore. With Kyle’s nuclear family comes a plethora of aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, great-grandparents, and great-aunts and uncles. A personal favorite of mine is the great-uncle who looks like he glued a carpet to his chest. He smacked me on the butt with a serving spoon at Easter. They’re some of the nicest people you’ll ever meet, and I had a great time getting to know them.
The first break up was bad too. Not this bad, because nobody caught me cutting and I didn’t try to die. It wasn’t good, but I didn’t want to die. It was a total shock. He was supposed to come home that weekend and we were going to go to the Renaissance Fair. But, a couple days before he was due to return, he called me up. I could tell he was sad about something by his voice. I babbled like an idiot about how much fun we were going to have that weekend. I was happy he was coming home. Then he said it. “It’s not working.” I’m not proud of how I sobbed. I cried like a baby whose mother had just stuck with a pin. It was mostly shock, partially rage. He asked me not to hurt myself. That really set me off. Who the hell was he to try to tell me what to do? I stopped crying then. There was too much anger. Then he said something that made me start wailing again. He said, “I love you”. A week later, he came crawling aback on his belly like a remorseful toddler. I took him back. Worst decision of my life. Sure, we had some good times after this, but the second time he dumped me, it was like he had strapped an atom bomb to my back and started running. It was at the worst possible time, too. Right before classes started. Indeed, the night before classes started. It was then that he killed me. I had been having a great day. I had exercised, met my nice roommates, and settled into my new home. I knew something was wrong by his voice again, but I didn’t put the pieces together until he said, “It’s not working.” Apparently, he felt apart from me, and this was his solution, to just end it. He didn’t even talk to me about it, just decided on his own that I was no longer girlfriend material. What really pisses me off is how he tried so hard to make it work with Melissa before they broke up, but with me, it was a snap decision. No second guesses. This time, he didn’t ask me not to hurt myself. This time, he didn’t say he loved me. It was over. For the next few days, I clung to hope that he would ask me back, just so I could say “no” and spit in his face. But he didn’t. Apparently, there is another girl who caught his eye. I promised myself I wouldn’t cut over him, because he wasn’t worth it. Then I started cutting again, not because of him, or at least that’s what I told myself. Then I stopped lying to myself.
I slept with a guy and told him about it to make him jealous. I didn’t do it to make him jealous, though. I did it because I wanted to and was horny. Anyway, when I told him, he called me a slut. We got into our first-ever fight. I pulled my punches, though. I didn’t tell him that every orgasm was a lie, or that the consensus among my friends here is that he looks like a child molester. I doubt he did me the same courtesy. Anyway, feeling started piling up and one day, I decided to kill myself. One more thing I fail at is suicide. I could see my veins, but I couldn’t cut deep enough to nick them. I told Kyle, because I wanted him to suffer. Instead of man up and deal with it himself, he called Ella. Now Ella and I are best friends, but didn’t want to talk to her at that point, because I knew she would talk me down. She wanted me to call 911. There was no way I was doing that. I didn’t want to go to the hospital. Then my roommate came home, and I was afraid she would send me there if she knew what I was trying to do. So I went over to Jamie’s dorm room. Jamie is my boyfriend, but we had only met a couple of days before and got into a relationship the day before. So he was skeptical when Ella called and told him to call 911. Then he saw all the cuts. He yelled at me and held me close and called 911. That was the first time in my life that the sirens were for me. Usually, when I hear sirens, I pray a little for the person they’re coming for. Even though I don’t really believe in God. When the paramedics go there, they decided I didn’t need an ambulance. There were about seven people in the room, and I asked one of them, “Why are there so many people here.” She said, “This is just everybody who comes.” They had me sign a form refusing service and left. I went in the back of a squad car to the hospital. The cop sounded exactly like Cleveland from Family Guy. He stayed with me almost the entire time. The ER Nurse referred to my cuts as “scratches”. That really upset me. I had tried to kill myself, and she called them “scratches”. I didn’t say anything though. That sure would upset them, wouldn’t it? “I tried the best I could, Nurse!” Cleveland and I got shown to a small room with two chairs and a hospital bed. We waited for about three hours. I don’t know why they make you wait so long in the ER for mental health related things. I suspect it’s to calm you down so you don’t attack them when they try to talk to you. Well, I wasn’t going to get committed that night, I decided. So I put on my best face and told the doctors I felt much better. That’s my one talent, is making people believe I’m fine when I’m not. Aly and Greg came to pick me up around midnight. Aly told me to call Dr. Natvig in the morning, and I did. Lo and behold, he said I should go to the hospital again. Aly came with this time. It took just as long.
Being in the hospital didn’t help one bit. They brought me in, did intake, and less than 48 hours later, I was free to go. And I still want to stick a fork in the electrical socket. That just goes to show you. The most therapeutic thing I did there was to start writing this. Well, there you have it. The story of the boy who killed me.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Quest for Beauty
Up till now, my life has been centered around my depression. I've decided to try something new. Now, my life is to be dedicated to finding beauty in unexpected places, just like in my favorite movie ever, American Beauty. I tried it today, and found myself smiling a lot more and noticing things that had before eluded me.
There is unimaginable beauty in heartache, for without sadness, happiness is less vibrant. Life is about contrast. God cannot exist without the devil, as my good friend Hannah Johnson once said in a spurt of genius.
Steven Cash once said to me, "Life is beautiful. Just fucking realize that." It took me a while, but I did.
There is unimaginable beauty in heartache, for without sadness, happiness is less vibrant. Life is about contrast. God cannot exist without the devil, as my good friend Hannah Johnson once said in a spurt of genius.
Steven Cash once said to me, "Life is beautiful. Just fucking realize that." It took me a while, but I did.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Workshop: The Concept from Hell
As a general rule, I don't like it when people critique my work. I like for them to praise me as a genius, say everything is perfect, and be done with it. However, like every person, I am not perfect. There is always room to improve in my work. I am taking a fiction writing class this semester, and today my story was one of the ones torn apart by the masses. It's called "At His Parents' Gravesite", but I don't care for the title, so I'm going to scrap it. I suck at titles, so suggestions are welcome. I'll put the story up here when I'm done with the changes. I hope by then it will be spectacular.
Music
I have been drowning myself in music lately to get my mind off things, so here are some of my new favorites:
St. Vincent (aka Annie Clark)
I really love her. She has a way of making music that is beautiful, yet also disgusting (her word). She is also one of the most gorgeous women ever. I wish I could look like her, but I don't think I could pull it off. I am addicted to Marrow and Actor Out of Work. Steven was the one who alerted me to her genius.
Here's an interview:
And here's Actor Out of Work:
I've also been listening to The Juliets a lot. They're really small, out of Michigan, I think. But I really like the sound. The Sequel is my favorite. I found out about them through Jason T. Lewis, another amazing musician and writer. I was fortunate enough to bask in his Certified Master of Fine Arts-dom for a couple weeks one summer. His album has just been released as well. http://sadironmusic.bandcamp.com/
Here's The Juliets' Drive You Home:
http://thejuliets.bandcamp.com/
I got their songs because they were free, but now I feel like I want to pay for them. Maybe I'll find some more I can buy once I get my credit card set up!
St. Vincent (aka Annie Clark)
I really love her. She has a way of making music that is beautiful, yet also disgusting (her word). She is also one of the most gorgeous women ever. I wish I could look like her, but I don't think I could pull it off. I am addicted to Marrow and Actor Out of Work. Steven was the one who alerted me to her genius.
Here's an interview:
And here's Actor Out of Work:
I've also been listening to The Juliets a lot. They're really small, out of Michigan, I think. But I really like the sound. The Sequel is my favorite. I found out about them through Jason T. Lewis, another amazing musician and writer. I was fortunate enough to bask in his Certified Master of Fine Arts-dom for a couple weeks one summer. His album has just been released as well. http://sadironmusic.bandcamp.com/
Here's The Juliets' Drive You Home:
http://thejuliets.bandcamp.com/
I got their songs because they were free, but now I feel like I want to pay for them. Maybe I'll find some more I can buy once I get my credit card set up!
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Poem for David
Fill the page
Draw out
The poison
Turn it into
The Antidote
Once, I was happy.
Once, I was whole,
Then I realized
I needed
More
To survive.
Being happy
Is not enough.
Draw out
The poison
Turn it into
The Antidote
Once, I was happy.
Once, I was whole,
Then I realized
I needed
More
To survive.
Being happy
Is not enough.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
When Steven Cash Is Famous
I will walk around telling random people in the street that I knew of him before they did. And I will get a false feeling of entitlement from it.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
I need to vent my angst.
The only way for me to survive is to write. I am convinced of this. Staring at a blank page is better than not staring at a blank page. I’m going to write until my brain pours out my ears. Heartache is a beautiful thing. I have to remember that. Always. Without it, I will most certainly give up and let myself fall into the abyss that is this world. I must stay afloat, at all costs. I must not disappoint myself.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Some Thoughts on the One True Religion
Choosing a religion to be the right one is like choosing to eat only your favorite food for the rest of your life. It damn well better be broccoli.
I always wonder why people decide to think in absolutes. Good and Evil, God and Satan, Black and White, Dead and Not Dead. Why can't there be things in between? Why can't more than one religion be the right religion? I mean, honestly, what kind of just and loving God would send three fourths of Creation to Hell because they don't read a certain interpretation of a book whose main message is "Be Good". Hell, ET could have told you that.
Back to the Broccoli Thing. Religion, in my mind (NOTE: THIS IS ONLY WHAT I BELIEVE. I AM NOT TOTING THIS AS THE TRUTH, NOR WILL I TRY TO MAKE YOU BELIEVE IT.), is comfort food. Salty soups, fattening cakes, and juicy red meat. The point of religion is to make life more bearable. Why else would almost every single human society ever invented have a religious doctrine to go with it? The human condition sucks. It's one way to deal with that fact (another way is hard drugs, but I won't go into that). Deciding only one religion is true and closing your mind to everything all the others have to offer is like eating only chicken noodle soup. You're not getting your vitamins. Aren't we here on earth to learn from each other? If we close our minds to all ideas but our own, how are we going to accomplish that?
God loves you. I promise. God loves gay people. After all, he made them that way. Don't say the Devil did, because the Devil is just another one of God's creations. My hypothesis is that the Devil was created because God got bored. After all, wouldn't an all powerful God be able to vanquish the Devil with a flick of His finger?
One more thing: What Is With the Capitalization? Does It Make Things Better or More Powerful to Capitalize Them?
That is All.
I always wonder why people decide to think in absolutes. Good and Evil, God and Satan, Black and White, Dead and Not Dead. Why can't there be things in between? Why can't more than one religion be the right religion? I mean, honestly, what kind of just and loving God would send three fourths of Creation to Hell because they don't read a certain interpretation of a book whose main message is "Be Good". Hell, ET could have told you that.
Back to the Broccoli Thing. Religion, in my mind (NOTE: THIS IS ONLY WHAT I BELIEVE. I AM NOT TOTING THIS AS THE TRUTH, NOR WILL I TRY TO MAKE YOU BELIEVE IT.), is comfort food. Salty soups, fattening cakes, and juicy red meat. The point of religion is to make life more bearable. Why else would almost every single human society ever invented have a religious doctrine to go with it? The human condition sucks. It's one way to deal with that fact (another way is hard drugs, but I won't go into that). Deciding only one religion is true and closing your mind to everything all the others have to offer is like eating only chicken noodle soup. You're not getting your vitamins. Aren't we here on earth to learn from each other? If we close our minds to all ideas but our own, how are we going to accomplish that?
God loves you. I promise. God loves gay people. After all, he made them that way. Don't say the Devil did, because the Devil is just another one of God's creations. My hypothesis is that the Devil was created because God got bored. After all, wouldn't an all powerful God be able to vanquish the Devil with a flick of His finger?
One more thing: What Is With the Capitalization? Does It Make Things Better or More Powerful to Capitalize Them?
That is All.
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