Just Needed to Share vol. 14

NW: Meatball Machine

so yeah...i'm about to be broke again. i've got a little more than 300 dollars left to my name. thanks so much, inflation and unemployment. you're the ugly side of the assfuck twins.

figures the band would find a practice space as soon as my ass got saaaaaaaaaaacked. it's a good deal, too... for those of us who aren't deadbeats, that is...which i am...again. fathers day this sunday.. little brother's b-day in 3 weeks...shit out of luck and jolly well fucked.

pretty much back to where i was last summer. huddled in this room all day, AC'd up and looking for work that isn't there while trying to write stuff that no one will ever fucking get to see. the only jobs available are half-ass part-time summer bullshit jobs scooping ice-cream for shit-heel little leaguers, or getting paid (after taxes) $6.75 an hour to work in a warehouse cleaning up after fat-tards and their pre-doomed C.H.U.D. children. It's damn near impossible to get any publishers to pay attention to your writing unless you have some cock-thesaurus literary agent breathing down their piss slits 24 seven. the work can't speak for itself anymore...everyone needs to know what it is before reading it, which i can understand i suppose, since there is a lot of bullshit out there...but you know what? A LOT OF THAT BULLSHIT GETS FUCK PUBLISHED.
I was doing ok these first few weeks after i got fired. i don't miss that job at all. anyplace that would fire someone for something as innocuous as a few blogs on a Myspace page is not a place i want to be working for. they did put money in my pocket, but it wasn't them i was making fun of. my co-workers didn't pay me anything, and they were the targets...but because i didn't fit into their shithouse alcove of an office, they found some way to get rid of me. cause i didn't laugh at the stupid jokes or comment on how adorable your perma-pain-in-the-ass child is or because i for the most part I stayed quiet, kept my head down, and fucking WORKED, which is what you are supposed to do when you are AT MOTHER FUCKING WORK...NOT play with kids or laugh at retards on the internet or eat popcorn or poorly sing along with whatever lowest-common-denominator RNB is on my I-Phone....I DID WHAT I WAS PAID TO FUCKING DO AND YOU STILL FUCKED ME OVER.

these last few weeks i've been told by nearly everyone that I was wrong for writing what i wrote. that it was in a public domain and i have no excuse for what i did. that i should grow up. that i should treat everyone with respect.

these people did nothing to earn.....EARN.......my respect. Simply being is no prerequisite for respect when it comes to me. i could not care less if their feelings were hurt...if their sensibilities were threatened or offended. my sensibilities have been under attack since the 5th fucking grade. my tastes have been called into question...my disposition has been mocked.... sometimes by my own family and "friends" (most of whom i have completely written off without prejudice or regret)....my psyche has had its dick kicked in the dirt on a nearly consistent basis since the age of ten. I've been misunderstood...misrepresented...misinterpreted....misenfranchised. A loner among outsiders...skirting the margin of the fringe....and that's the way it's always going to be. I'm weird. I'm quiet. I dress funny. I have silly hair. I listen to strange music, read strange books, and watch strange movies. I like to write and that's all i really wanna do. I don't care if it's unrealistic or it "doesn't pay the bills". It's what i do. I internalize than vomit the concentrated rage it bores. I do it until my fingers are crinkled at the keyboard and shooting pains go from my hand to my shoulders to the back of neck, feeling like cigar burns on the muscle.

i'll write until the movie's over, regardless of catharsis (or lack thereof). But cathartic-absence doesn't mean i don't feel better after getting all this off my chest.

Just Needed to Share.