I don't have commitment issues. I commit to things all the time. Work, writing projects, art projects, financial commitments.

What I suffer from is a condition I like to call not-wanting-another-person-to-fuck-up-my-life-itis.

I have a post coming soon about how stupid Racism is. Apparently, things being stupid is developing as a theme here in the Filling Station. While that post will take some intense, super-intellectualism to complete (AKA, I've got to think of some jokes to make it worth reading), this pre-post sequel doesn't require much thought.

I've seen a ton of planets. Mingled among numerous cultures throughout the universe. One thing I can tell you, the happiest planets are filled with empathy, even in the face of anger, hatred, and contempt. (You know...evil.)

I spoke to Jesus about this recently. I asked what the deal was, and he said he would answer my question the way Bob answered his when he asked Bob the same thing, then Jesus poked me in my left eye. Really hard. Both my eyes watered and he laughed his ass off. Then I understood.

When this racist uprising that humanity is currently facing comes to an end, I can tell you most of these racist people won't suddenly disappear. Once 45 has been crapped out and flushed down the toilet of history, these ignorant masses will still exist. Ostracization will not fix them. Despite how hard it will be, they must be repaired, rebuilt with love and kindness, if the powers of human "light and right" want to truly win the war.

In the midst of all the hatred being spewed forth, I understand this is a tough conversation. People don't want to hear this shit right now, but it's true. These ignorant practitioners of illogical contempt will not suddenly disappear. When the current battle is over, when the powers of good have won the day, the last step in recovery will be saving the lives of those who were led astray, those we care the least to save, the enemy's woeful foot soldiers. As many as possible must be rehabilitated, or humanity will be damned to repeat this episode time and again.

PS - Thank you Mr. Daryl Davis, and others like you, who walk while I talk.

Humanity has an illness called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD, a well known fact throughout the Multiverse. What I want to know is if there's a trauma center in the afterlife for all the souls that survive humanity.


Pssssst, the answer is yes. There's an entire wing in the Soul Closet where former humans are rehabilitated.

In the age of the dreaded Deep State, it feels important to reiterate the fallacies of man. To name a few: Stupid. Petty. Greedy. Jealous.

That's a good start. Those four qualities alone would most likely be paramount in the ego of any individuals striving for global sociological manipulation and dominance, and therefor the downfall of any ridiculous grand scheme to control the world. If there is an Illuminati, I doubt the organization could survive its own humanity.

So let's take this one step further. It's not that I don't think there are powers constantly trying to affect the world, one way or another. It's simply the idea that any particular force is capable of sustaining a dedicated path for humanity. There are too many variables, billions of people to throw monkeys into wrenches (or something like that...). We literally witness the ineffectiveness of global leadership on a daily basis. Thus, even if there is some Illuminatic council, or reasonable facsimile thereof, even if it's a team of brilliant alien scientists, or reasonable facsimile thereof (I don't know...brilliant alien philosophers, maybe?), I simply have a hard time believing that at best, most of their work would be reactionary, basically continuously putting out fires mankind's insanity ignites.

This isn't to say I don't think there are successful, isolated attempts at global level, organized chicanery. There clearly are. For instance, only Bob or The Council knows how the fuck Elvis Presley wound up getting picked to fake his own death and become an international assassin, but I promise you, Elvis' bad-assery does not support the idea that this world is somehow being controlled, by anyone. Even Bob checked out a while ago.

There is no one pulling one giant string on this Earth. Our collective reality is right in front of us to be dealt with. I understand this world can be daunting, and the concept of helplessness in the face of unforeseen, unspeakably powerful forces can actually be easier to accept than reality. Easier to accept than the accountability we all have as a species. But the truth is, no matter what we think we don't know, humanity is unfolding right in front of our eyes.

Believe it or not, there is a version of Earth even dumber than ours. On Earth 23, just today, or, more precisely, now, poor humans agreed to be subjugated by extremely wealthy humans of similar skin tone, in an effort to feel like they are on the winning team.

Oh, wait...

Day after day I grow more despondent observing the atrocities of humanity. I should preface this by stating I'm dissatisfied with my own actions. They're not enough. It's difficult to see a clear path forward. Part of evil's repertoire is to assault you from so many sides you're too disoriented to fight back. This disorientation can simply lead to checking out. Unfortunately, I see that in myself as much as my fellow humans.

Yet, on Father's Day 2018, I see post after post on social media of people celebrating with their families interspersed with post after post of immigrant children being ripped away from their families. All I can think is, we are all complicit.

How the fuck can anyone, in good conscious,  keep posting trivial bullshit while our country is being torn apart from within? Yet, I want to do more and don't know where to begin, so I don't.

We are all complicit.

I've been wondering what the sweet life of a Russian internet troll is like. What's the atmosphere and feng shui at Trollsky and Putinoff? What's a typical day at the office? Do they have quotas? Bonuses? "Like", "Share" and "Retweet" goals. Is there a troll of the month award? Since they appear to argue both sides of any subject, is there a team liberal trolls and a team conservative trolls? Team Bernie Bros? Team just say any absurdly stupid thing you can?

Are the most successful trolls treated like Kingskys in Russia? Do they wear fur jogging suits and drink fine vodkas from platinum bear skulls? Do they have groupies? Do they make the rubles rain? Do they simply take their pick of  fuckables and drugs like a Bobdamned rock star?

Basically, what I'm getting at is, in a world full of dirtbags living opulent lives well beyond the means of a normal, decent hearted person, do I now have to add fucking internet trolls to the list of folks who I envy, while I continue hedging my bets on the existence of my soul, attempting to live morally in the off chance there is an eternal life?

So let me get this straight. Evangelicals support propping up Israel in Jerusalem. They are propping up Jews, who they believe won’t get into heaven, while alienating their fellow Christians in the region, because Evangelicals believe returning Jerusalem to Jews, again, a religion with which they do not agree, will help usher in the second coming of Jesus, a savior the Jews don’t believe in. And now Donald Trump is the hero of all this?

Lest this be taken the wrong way, I've nothing against Jewish folk or the average Christian. Or members of other religions. However, I do wholeheartedly have something against the zealot population within any of humanity's religions. Especially those intent on ushering in an apocalypse.

Every year I buy People Magazine's Sexiest Man Alive issue and blow a load all over the cover. I’m not homosexual, I just find the exercise extremely empowering.

I like to get super high, then get in the shower and completely forget what I'm doing in there.

#justkiddingwaterconvservationisgenuinelyimportant

The plight of my mission: I am often away from my family and friends. It hurts.

The mixed blessing: Escaping the mental trappings of life on Earth. In this specific instance, my thoughts are inspired by corporate greed and consumer  support. Many corporations are being called to task for the way they treat employees, yet American consumers refuse to stop patronizing these pieces of shit. I find it absolutely baffling.

If you want these motherfuckers to change their practices, offering living wages and appropriate healthcare packages to their employees, stop fucking shopping there! The only way they will change is when they see their practices are affecting their bottom lines.

Is this obvious? I assumed it was obvious. Yet...

For the past six months I've been cycling on and off steroids, but it's strictly for masturbatory purposes.

If the course of human existence has all been unfolding to a creator's plan, the creator's plan must have been to sit back in a recliner with a cold beverage and a bag of popcorn to enjoy some chaos.

There are numerous, generally meaningless catch phrases for how to live a happy life, or a meaningful life, or a life worth living one way or another. I have an instinctual disdain for oversimplification, ergo, catch phrases tend to make me want to blow my own pseudo-intellectual snark factory out the side of my head with a pressure washer crammed in my ear hole. That said, I will credit all of these silly platitudes for one meaningful shared concept. They almost always, in one form or another, call for action. If you want a happy life, do something about it.

As for me, I wouldn't necessarily say I've grabbed life by the balls, but I've definitely stuck my finger in its butthole.

I am I am I am you are; we are just the same.
I am tired and weary, and not so long in the tooth to be deservedly so. I am a eunuch, yet manage to rape myself daily, a very inconsiderate lover.
I am resentment sent home to take a nap; bitter, childish, likely to wet the bed.
I am scared stiff.
Fear rains icy with no umbrella to protect,
How will my socks stay dry?
I am a smile locked in a box and told he is inappropriate, even if it is his birthday.
I am my family, each and every one fighting it out in my head, my home, never enough money.
I am I am I am, you are.
He is, she is, we are all the same; I hope,
Otherwise we are all alone (or maybe it is just...).
I am alone.

I don’t ever want to die, at least not in this lifetime. Life plays little tricks on us called dreams and sometimes, aspirations. Someone fooled me into desires I could never see fulfilled. Not within the age any man could achieve, that is. From what I can see it would take an eternity to fix this place. I have more time than I know what to do with now and it is not enough. Maybe someday I’ll get moving. Maybe someday, the baby steps I take every once in a while will become leaps and bounds from moment to moment. Maybe someday I’ll be happy. Maybe someday, all this nonsense in my head, and heart (I think), will turn into something I can sell? Maybe someday I’ll feel loved. Maybe someday enough of this shit will change, that I will spend more time thinking of others and less of me. Maybe someday I’ll fit in.
      - Or at least feel like I do. No matter what they say I don’t trust them, not one bit. The smiles are lies and their eyes hide wickedness. Not a one of them latches on and screams “Don’t ever let go or I’ll die!” No! -
Maybe someday could be tomorrow, it certainly isn’t today. The world will probably make its way without my influence. It is a shame though, that it has learned to play such tricks on us as it has. Showing us all we could want, all we could have, all we could be, if we would just get off our ass and go get it. Or, if we were somebody else. God, give me an eternity and I’m pretty sure I could not stop being me, but give me some time lord and maybe, just maybe….
 
And the Lord said, “I don’t deal in maybes.”

Killing a cupid is a hard thing to do.
He struck me first and it was my right to fight,
To fight back in defense of his soft, warm blanket of oppression.
Who is he, it (she?), to make these choices for me?
An attack is an attack, good intentions (road to hell) or no.
His arrow was uninvited, yet
Loftiness became a mental state for old boy as much as a physical disposition,
And when you elevate yourself it is opportunity to fall is it not?
And so he found me holding his toe,
Like a fly on a string,
A new chosen destiny for he who has so callously fucked with me.
His valor will no doubt be chirped about,
Championing his mission to the bitter end.
But he wasn’t much of a fighter,
Poisoned arrows and all.
A simple branch changed the direction of his wind and,
He spiraled to the ground like a lover lost in excess.
Now to brood over those smashed feet,
Blue black and red, the color of this murderous heart.
His arms and hands have lost distinction,
Now puddles of flesh slowly trickling away from his body.
His face holds discontent like it is candy,
A smile on that sweet cherub head.
Forever was this his expression in life, and forever in death,
Pinned to him, tail on a donkey, by the arrow through his cheeks.
Remorse creeps through the back door as I survey this selfish act.
Who have I denied his gifts with my outburst of fear and failure?
Yet who have I saved?
Has he been a punisher rather than a savior for others as he has me?
As filthy as the sight at my feet is,
It pales in comparison to the damage in my breast.
It is a hard thing to kill a cupid,
A hard thing.
Kill the cupid!
I’m sorry.
He might have been good to you.
Kill the cupid.
Killing a cupid is a hard thing to do.

"It's not like I wanted to have a nervous breakdown," he said. "It just happens."

I didn't bother telling him that's not always the case. Sometimes, it's a slow burn to bottom, rather than a sudden drop. Sometimes you can see it coming. Off in the distance, it's a megalithic monster, casting a massive shadow of oppression as it slowly approaches. By the time it reaches you, it's the ice cream truck and you're the first one in line  for a double-scoop of soft-serve insanity. At least, that's how it happened for me.

It started as a Thursday thing. That's where I first noticed the cycle. Thursdays were always tired days. The grind of the week, the fatigue, by Thursday they were catching up to me. By Friday, I could have thrown myself off a bridge, but the week was over. You get a good night's sleep and wake up refreshed on Saturday morning, ready to enjoy forty-eight hours of a life all your own.

Then one day, you wake up on Monday and it feels like Thursday and you know you're fucked. That's when I knew my goose was basted and cooked. I was watching it happen. I wanted it to happen. I realized I had been skirting the edge of the cliff for so long I had forgotten what it was like to walk freely. Indeed, by the time I fell off I might as well have jumped because I was ready. I was tired, and for me the endless fall, the descent into empty, it felt like freedom.

I want you to know that I am not crazy. I'm broken, I admit. I am confused, that is true, but I am not crazy. This world has presented me with enough tangible realities to cling to that I know I am functional. I can intermingle. I can play the game. I'm just not sure how much talent I have for it, and I don't understand how one maintains focus with so many things to think about. So many variables to consider. How will I get the money?

I was raised soft, often lonely for no reason, and kind. My temper was a birthright, but my compassion came from lesson. I wanted everyone to get along and love one another. I wanted to play all day, but how would I get the money?

I loved Jesus and God. I'm sure I still do, though my vision isn't what it used to be. My childish clarity was concise, and beautiful, and I wanted to teach it to others. But I wondered too much, then wandered too much, then found myself lost. Then one morning I woke up and all I could wonder was how I would get all the money.

I don't want to feel so desperate, so angry, so confused, so slighted by life or God or my own lack of whatever it takes to have a happier, more successful life. But you can't control the way you feel. All you can control is the way you respond, the way you react to all the bullshit emotions you've been blessed with. And still, how will I get the money?

So here I sit, sane as the button on your shirt. Only not as thoughtless, no sir. So much to think about. So much to feel. So much mud to swim through for all these things I want: Peace, love, happiness. But the thing I just can't figure is, how I will get all the money.

I don’t want to swim through life with my heart locked in a shark’s cage, but here it is.
I don’t want to be filled with contempt, but there is nothing else filling the cup, so there it is.
No one wants to be exactly what they are, at least according to them, but there they are.
No one, maybe some, but not me, wants to be in love and all alone so ha ha ha here we are.
Somedays, most days, every day, I’ve some place to go, some thing to do, and a little piece of nothing to say.
Some weeks, most weeks, every week, I’ve something to hide, no thing worth speaking, and another on the way.
Some month, one month, this month, I’m gonna do something, find someone, say something you’ll hear.
Some year, one year, this year, we’ll meet and laugh, you’ll lie and leave, and I’ll hold dear.

The last thing the world needs is another me. Another voice of reason. Another boy. Another white person. Another weak link in the chain of Christianity. Another unfocused artist. Heaven forbid another moderately talented wanna-be artist. The last thing this world needs is another me. Another person futilely resisting their place within mediocrity. Another me is already out there, expressing himself more eloquently than I possibly could. Turning my base emotions that burn inside, making me want to create, into something tangible and beautiful and expressive on multiple levels I could never achieve or understand. Another me is saying what I want to say, loving how I want to love, living his life with a fearlessness I could only dream of. He is taking the things I’ve been given and applying them towards greatness. Another me is the athlete I never trained to be, and the leader I’m afraid to be. Another me is the person I’m destined to be, but without the patience to wait on destiny. There are millions of mes out there before me, doing a better job at being who I want me to be then I ever could. The last thing this world needs is another me. But, here I am anyways.

The eras of our lives often come to an end without our permission. I find myself filled with both joy and profound sadness when I recognize that an era of my life has come and gone. It typically moves me to tears.

We are surrounded by inequities. As an adult, I am supposed to readily accept these as reality, despite the fact that these inequities go against everything I was taught about right and wrong as a child. It seems to me there is a grand acceptance that we can’t live our lives the way we know we should.

I understand many people fight this easy path. They endeavor to change the world.

The insistent adherence to one particular school of philosophical thought or sociological -ism has way more to do with the indulgence of human nature's desire to be correct, and to win at discourse, than it does reason.