This Shit Is Crazy, Holmes. You Feel Me?

Today a very old, dear friend that I’ve been searching for on the net these last few years accepted my friend request on Facebook. He’s as vibrant and full of life as ever, & I’m excited to see how we catch up & where we go from here. Meanwhile, a newer friend & I are texting what amounts to the angry poetry of frustrated love at each other regarding her recent unhappiness.

How appropriate that we celebrate the day that Christ rose for us the same day that both Passover & Mercury Retrograde end. This weekend has been a rush of messages from God saying to me, “Look, kid, you had to face some idiotic crap you were perpetuating. Now that you’ve accepted your complicity in your own failures as a communicator, here’s some chubby rewards.”

Can you smell what the Lord is cooking? It smells like brownies. It’s luscious & chocolatey and oh so comforting!

I know I’ve said that God is all powerful & that Mercury Retrograde means nothing. In the dark, vast scheme of things, that’s true. However, in my arrogance I forgot that God grounds us on occasion, & asks me to “think about what you’ve done, young lady!” Mercury Retrograde is such a time. Yes, if you pray to Him, He will fix it no matter the course of the heavens, but meanwhile you’re still on notice, young lady! God used this last MR to show me that my own poor expectations for myself are actually my problem, not other people.

Sometimes, someone says, not directly, but in no uncertain terms, “I love you, & I admire you, & I appreciate you. I want you to know that.” And what I hear at the end of that is “NOT!” even though it’s not there. My own preparation for disappointment sets me up for failure, through no fault of the other person. If Mercury Retrograde taught me anything this time, it’s to stop assuming that amazing people are just humoring me. Why would they?

Another thing I’ve learned is that some who say quite plainly “I love you” don’t, just as I’d learned people who call you “friend” frequently aren’t. Words are cheap. If all you ever hear from someone is “I love you” & “You’re my friend” but there’s no love or friendship there, you’re getting a lot of smoke blown up your arse, which just leaves you frightfully bloated.

People use me for my endless ear & propensity toward forgiveness. If I were a priest, it would be acceptable. I am not, so it is not.

I have limits. Once you reach the end of my patience, a gleaming armour that I’ve shined bright as starlight, you cut quite easily into the gushy core. I let people bleed me. I can’t do that any more. All the time I spend patching up the wounds from such encounters takes time away from those who wish to give to me. I need to turn the blades away in time to make it home for tea.

What I’m doing now essentially is babbling.

Point is, Jesus died for us petty jerks who wound each other with misunderstandings, outright cruelty, or simple vampirism. Meanwhile, forgive yourself for being a victim & move forward as a survivor. Festering in guilt is like picking at scabs. God is your mother. “Stop that!” He yells, smacking your hand away.

And hence, Mercury Retrograde.

Forgive me; I’m just squeezing out all the pus of my personal nonsense before doing my Pundit League piece tonight.

In any case, I’m grateful for the people who do endeavor to understand me. All two or three of you. My love for you is endless.

The All Singing, All Dancing Crap

I was thinking earlier this evening that among my few close friends, shreds of secrets are scattered about like so much taco filling. If I were to die tomorrow, I imagine they would come together at my wake & discuss the fragments, making a giant taco of my life. They would be shocked, amused, they would stare at each other & laugh. And I imagine certain of my friends, with whom I am close but not disclosure oriented, would eat that taco with piquant, spicy shock.

I hope God would allow me to look in on that. I think it would be a little delightful, for I love my friends. And they’re sarcastic and would talk righteous shit about me.

Some people know facts, others know feelings. One person truly knows the deep dark & sickly past, another knows the whispered future. One knows what I taste like & has seen me cry, another knows what keeps me going. One knows my tumble of frustrations as only a kindred spirit can, but no details. It’s like the Voltron force of sentence fragments. Some of the hidden feelings are about the others. I think they’d be flattered.

Though my paladin is male, my priest confessors are mostly female. I am honored to have real, good, actual girlfriends at this phase of my life. I’m not good with women, but they are kind & patient with me now, as I guess none of us is competing for the same things.

As they go, it’s like I have three different confessionals, & each hears a piece of what I consider my sins but are actually just inconvenient interpretations of events. I like to think this keeps me from going insane with guilt while still protecting my victims. Each priestess absolves me fully of having done no wrong (yet), save one, who is wily enough to expect wrong doing to occur eventually. And yet this again is my perception. One girl’s giddy anticipation is another’s rational analysis of pros & cons. For me, the con is that I am somehow an awful person for merely entertaining a possibility. How very deeply I’ve been programmed by thought police!

In short, I feel tremendous guilt over a possible future. I feel it like it already happened, without all the benefits therein. This is unfathomably stupid of me.

I torture myself with guilt as a rule. I did it when I was a child & a victim, & now that I’ve absolved myself of being small enough to be dominated, I’ve transferred that guilt to future options for happiness. Yup, I feel guilt over possible ways to serve God with success in the future! Why? Why do I continue to do this?

I think because I’ve very much bought into Peter & Jane simplistic morality. Yes, things are either right or they are wrong. Things are in the Bible or they ain’t. But God would not lead me down a path where I could not serve the greatest good, & I DID ask him to send me there, whatever the cost. And that’s how I fucked up, isn’t it? Like Geordi telling the holodeck to provide a new mystery that even Data couldn’t solve (instead of Holmes), I’ve inadvertently said to God, “I will be your Scorpion clan operative. I will do whatever you ask to serve the Emperor. Whatever. You. Ask.”

HOLY CRAP did I just FULLY geek out or what?!!!

Anyhow, I think I just answered the question I’ve been pouring over in my head for a while now. You need not suffer my florid prose any further.

So. That was fun. Thanks for listening, magic pixies in my blog!

Agony Chorus

Tepid afterthoughts where oft
Such monsters loom amid the pangs & pains of
Sullied births & unearthed rage
And all is quiet and still except the bestial electronic thrum
Air beaten into submission because you hate noise
And all the while the loudest silence is bitten by the
Fetid discomfort of no talk and words
For words are foreign and intrusive
How will we function without words?
My God, how do we WITH?
There’s so much goddamned talking and I want to join the Air Force so some
Kind commander will send me
Three miles below the earth
A silo, a silence
Please, talk is cheap & cruel
Not one soul knows another while they blather and they
Scream through ribbons that tie us gaily
Merrily are we bound, wound round God’s finger
Reminders of lesser times when He was sorting out the darkness
And what did He want to make for Eternity?
And here these noisy beings
Hear me hear me hear me because
The other choice scrapes fear
But we who can don’t judge
We’d love you anyway
Your heart of sin & all that constant envy
None of us take it personally
Well, none except the fakes.
So please, the sake of Christ, just cap it off
So few say the thing they mean
It’s like at the red light and
The one car is bumping Lupe and the other
Is Michael Jackson
And you know each song and one has more base and
One is the truth and
One is your incessant chatter
And in my heart they clatter
And the pain is thunder.

April Tard

I hate April Fool’s Day, & those of you who perpetrate your evil pranks upon the world are hateful, bestial, monstrous lag-abouts who drown kittens & slap babies. YES YOU.

My first and most formative April Fools pranking occurred my first year in the States. I had just turned 7, & my mother burst into my bedroom, staggering, faint, and bleeding horribly from the face.

I jumped up, ran to her while she explained to me she had fainted & hit her face on the bathroom mirror. Sure enough, it was cracked. I was fretting as small English children do, & could not remember if the American way to phone an ambulance was 999 or something else.

Anyhow, I’d finally gotten myself together enough to reach for the phone when my mum burst out laughing. “April Fool!” she howled, and wiped the ketchup off her face. “It’s just beefy!” she explained, as I called ketchup “beefy” for reasons no one knew. She offered it up to taste, but I was horrified.

And I’ve fucking hated you sadists ever since.

I have a good sense of humor (natch), but pranks have never made sense to me. Why someone would want to lie or cause embarrassment to a person is beyond my comprehension of human nature. Not an ounce of psychology training has explained it to me. I understand intellectually why someone kills their own children before I understand on any level the prankster.

Despite laughing freely at things that are actually funny, I am and have always been a very serious child, even at 37 years of age. I have painfully acute empathy & take people at face value, to the point where if someone appears to be suffering, my heart instantly goes out to them & I want to fix it.

If I’m “working”, I can tell that something is off, & I will ask a client “Are you telling me the whole truth?” which most do, but some do try to “test the psychic”, which makes no sense to me. That’s like telling the doctor you came in for a headache when you actually have bowel cancer. Don’t you want to work on the actual issue at hand, rather than “test” a person’s diagnostic skills?

Anyhow, to preserve my sanity & protect your privacy, I usually turn the clairsentience off when I’m going about daily business. In which case, I assume, stupidly, that all people wish to communicate plainly and honestly. Isn’t that the best way to get things across? If I have something nice to say to you, I’ll say it & mean it. Fishing for compliments with me tends to piss the angler off, as I cannot fake nice & I won’t see it. I also won’t tell you that you’re a horrible bugger unless you really deserve it, as everybody has bad days.

The fact is, if I say something nice to you, even something absurd, I mean it 100%. If I don’t say anything to you, I like you just fine, & it’s best not to ask if there’s any specific reason, as I have not thought of one, & the look on my face while I puzzle over this will be taken as an insult where none is intended.

Anyhow because of this trait of utter honesty and face value acceptance, I am the ultimate prank victim. What’s worse, I will take your prank at face value & spread your fiendish misinformation to other people with such true and honest conviction, even the very wise assume I am conveying fact. When actually I am their idiot friend who thought something was true.

Occasionally I am lucky enough to meet someone who had a not so decent past, who explains these things to me, if they are decent enough to explain it. However these days, I’m so embarrassed by my stupidity that I tend to share my impressions of new info with a very select couple of people. These people are constantly amused or perplexed by my sincerity, & frequently start their responses to me with “Seriously, KJ?”

I am driven, at times, to confused tears.

I didn’t even come up with a good senior prank day prank. I can’t even remember if I came up with one at all. That’s how lame it was. My boyfriend at the time spelled out “FORK YOU” on the football field with, well, forks. That was brilliant! But then I thought of all those poor greensmen, resodding…

If you tell me you’ve hurt yourself, been fired, getting married/divorced, are pregnant, contemplating suicide, thinking of purchasing a Toyota Corolla, I will ALWAYS take you seriously. Count on that, my friend. And then I will try to help you, or at least be an ear.

But woe betide you who betray my childlike trust. You know what Jesus said. Well. It was basically “Woe betide he who betrays childlike trust.” So. *cough*

Anyhow, you don’t want to make me cry. It’s a mess. Also, people who have tried too hard to take pranks too far with me find that they have to spend doubly long extricating themselves from their fetid web of lies–long after the police have turned up, or I beat up that guy for them. Oh, it’s always a mess.

There are people it is fun to prank. I am not one of them, I’m told, because I take the faked dilemma so seriously, & take such immediate steps to fix it, that it’s sheer torture trying to explain to my hurt & crumpled little face that it’s not real, that everything’s fine.

Cos WHO WOULD LIE ABOUT THAT?! My mummy’s face was all smashed in!

Bah.