I get back from therapy and I feel tired in my brain. Robert challenges me to use my logical mind to “unpack” the totally bullshit things I say. Then he makes me look at it, and prove to myself that in there was some sort of positive message or lesson. Some introspective moment of self-realization. I sound like an ass. I AM an ass. Robert is great, I’m a fucking idiot.

I’m mad at Uncle Phil. He’s being a shit head in the Li’l Y Memorial Fantasy Football League. I’m not going to let his insanity ruin my fun, damnit. But it has my attention, and I keep fucking talking about it…

I had to go back into relationship stuff again. Fuck, was that ever a BLAST to talk about. Look, come see how I ruined a marriage (albeit, a shitty one), married a bitch, tried to kill myself, got divorced, accrued tens of thousands in debt… and that’s just the fucking first half of the cookie we just got into.

I really despise myself. I’m such a fucking loser. I’ve ruined so many lives. I’ve wasted nearly all the years of life. I have little chance of making enough right to undo the colossal wrong I have done. I deserve to be reminded of how I’ve fucked this up. I’m trying not to repeat said action, so I can have a better life. Or something.

Robert wants me to appreciate my small, incremental steps toward positive short-term goals. That makes sense. Logically. I don’t like to give myself praise, EVER. In fact, I never do it. NEVER. Big fucking waste of time. Oh? You need a pat on the back? Tough shit pork-chop. The real world just dick-slapped you in the fucking face and now everyone is laughing at you because you are a sorry sack of shit. How does it feel now?

I’d rather be aware of my flaws, than in denial. I guess. Great path I’ve decided to walk down, totally alone and surrounded by sadness and rage. See you later.

Pwned U

So, for the last 5 weeks, I have enjoyed wins in both the Bailey Friends ‘n Family league, as well as Li’l Y Memorial. 5 weeks, 5 straight wins. Went from worst, to first in the Bailey league. I own the top seed in the Li’l Y league, and have for the last 5 weeks. Jessica must fucking hate me for leaving her back there in the cellar (1-7).

Needless to say, this trend was somewhat unexpected. I planned to have a better season than last, where in the Bailey league I was last of 6 teams at 4-9. I am currently 5-3.

I had a league that I used to be in… the one that got me involved in Fantasy Football in the first place. My ex friend Tony introduced me to his Electric Apprenticeship league (named INDEED!), which he had at his work. I was the lone outsider. In my first year, I was 10-4 and eliminated from the playoffs, finishing 4th overall. the next year, I finished 2nd overall with a 10-4 record. Coming into this year, of the 3 leagues I had been invited to play in, I was MOST SURE I could or needed to win it all this year in the INDEED! league.

I wanted to show those guys I had what it takes. After the draft however, that plan was totally derailed when a colossally unfair trade was posted (R. Rice, P. Harvin for V. Jackson, C. Johnson). My subsequent distress over the HUGE advantage one team was clearly getting earned me immediate ridicule from the rest of the league, and I was made fun of publicly, and totally disregarded. It was clear to me, but not to them, that one team was going to become a statistically unstoppable juggernaut, and the other would have zero talent remaining. I quit the league that had shown me a passion I did not know I had in me, and that made me pretty sad.

So, with 2 leagues left to manage (which is about all I think my mentally ill brain can handle), I have high hopes that my core philosophical change, and new approach to Fantasy Football will pay off. So far, I’d say that’s the case. Li’l Y Memorial, I’m GOING TO BE 7-1 after a stat correction on Thursday hands me my 5th straight win. In both leagues. 5 weeks. 10 wins. 0 losses. Scoreboard bitches.

bLoRp [Can Google translate this page for you?]

Bajookafred Mundangledorf lagoobradurg Montackular smult. Bajongabeef Zabookachoad nargleplarf. Entrogroogen plorperbloop murgurbonoig plangdeef skroob.Pongaplarg boop garpacklefreds nargbooberchoaf. Glorp spleeb blerper blorp. Bloop bloop pleeb. Morp margatakroaf gralp froag turb blorp. BLORP?

Put that in Google translation and post what you get. 404 errors do not count as valid entries. I haven’t done it, and it’s probably not interesting. It was fun to suggest though… AS IF GOOGLE WOULD KNOW?

You”re (Moo) always saying “oh you have to write ‘word’ that down and make a dictionary…” well, look what you made me do! Look at it! Does that look intelligible, or dictionary-worthy to you?

The miracle of my insanity-inspired gibberish ‘language’, is every time I need a way to describe something NOW, and a real adjective escapes me… I improvise. Result usually works to the benefit of both parties, as MY words are far more descriptive of what it is that I am trying to describe. Eat it Miriam-Webster. Interjected alongside highly articulate discourse, I find it breaks the pattern, gets a smile going, and usually conveys the point accurately. All involved parties subject to said revisionist language can comment as testimony.

Another Early Morning Numerical Check-in

On a scale of 1 to 10 (1 = serious problem, 10 = not a problem), rate the following:

Emotional Health:     6

Physical Depression Symptoms:     9

Physical Anxiety Symptoms:     6

Racing Thoughts:     4

Depressed Thoughts:    9

Self-Esteem:     5

Concentration:     4

Enthusiasm:     7

Charisma:     7

Motivation:    5

Paranoia / Fear / Anxiety:     6

Outlook / Hope:     5

OVERALL:     6/10

Night Goes Day

In forests tall standing,

One match high in the dark.

Yellow leaves are falling.

Sighing in the pine needles,

Tower hills and rocks bluffed–

Scraping cold skies of stone.

Shining stars, rising, faint–

Cactus palms open dark

Shadows in the night,

Finger-leaves up.

Glory of the dawn

Reach in and breathe me,

The day has begun

Down to it

Sunday game day. I’m in a deep hole in the relevant league, one that I probably won’t escape. win four, lose one… I’ll take that all day long. But we still have to go play the damn games, and I have to sit there and pray for a miracle. Underdog, always gunning for respect, always getting none. I have to win to prove I have it.
I don’t think I’m going 0/2 this week, but it is a distinct possibility far within the realm of reasonable occurrence. I ponder these things pretty regularly, trying to think about variables. My talent evaluations are almost entirely based on logical expressions. They are individually weighted values that have direct relevance to the situation in focus. Funny thing about this whole thing, is it SOUNDS like it’s numerical/mathematical computer-brain shit… however, I see them as feelings, colors, quantities of good blobs, or bad blobs. It’s hard to describe, but I SEE the possibilities of a given circumstance, and I think about all the variables impacting it, and then I formulate a probability feeling… thing. It was based on my projections about each variable, like weather, individual match-ups, home-field, distance traveled, bye week position, and so on. The list goes on because all these things factor in, albeit some more then others, but nevertheless should be included in the formulation of an outcome.

If you have two kickers, but the “better one” is kicking outdoors in the rain and the “not as great one” is in a dome, which would you start?

Just based on that? Or can I get some more variables please? Great, thanks.

I, as usual, have really no idea what to expect. Hey, I thought Minnesota was going to beat the monkey piss out of Tampa Bay on Thursday night, and boy was I looking like I had  jammed up my ass at the end of the game. Minnesota’s defense was worth close to forty fantasy points last week, and this week it was worth FIVE fantasy points. ouch, my anus is bleeding. Can you little popcorn guys help me?

I will be watching the morning numbers come in with anticipation. Most of my position players will be in the books at the end of the 10:00 am starts, with a couple here and there going on the 1:15 pm snap and the last finishing up on Sunday Night Football at 5:30 pm.

Again, this looks pretty bad for me this week. Guy not supposed to go off did (Doug Martin – against), and big-time at that…  and starter supposed to go off did not and was instead worth next to nothing  for me (Minnesota DEF/ST).

I am in this for my own personal challenge to myself, to show me how good me is at dis, and hows I can do stuff goods, MORe GooDs thAN YoUz, JErK. I hat u. Lef mah blog rIte nAo.
I’ll let you know If I plummet to the depths of despair and shame, or rise to ultimate glory and rise past the ceiling of heaven.

No pressure or anything. AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGG

I hate Football

We (Humans) Suck

Modern governments are a byproduct of humanity’s needs for both order, and parental guardianship. However, the trend of institutions bearing the corruption that is so abundant among the less-educated is somewhat alarming. Exploitation is the interactive standard at initial contact, in nearly ALL historical and modern references. Our priorities truly puzzle me, and cause me no end of frustration.

The point of this discourse it to illuminate the modern miracle of un-natural selection. We chose our destinies (more often than not), and environmental changes are imminently controllable factors. With the exception of massive-scale events, we pretty much run the surface of the Earth. Why are we wasting so much time infighting and dilly-dallying in our development? Because we’re not in any hurry… we’ve grown fat and bloated with nothing hunting us, no reason to fear, nothing threatening our lives.

When there is always enough food and always enough comfort, chances are you’ll feel good, and maybe even complacent in such an environment. That’s the problem. No one learns anything by sitting around doing nothing, appeasing the need for sensation, growing little. It’s a very pathetic state that is truly only our inability to rise beyond our animalistic instincts and inherit the responsibility of so-called intelligent life. We enable our desires, however reckless and meaningless. And thus, we are still territorial, confrontational, inanely social, obsessed with mating and still in need of our “parents” to watch over us. In any case, a ruling body, or God(s), or whatever you have in your world that fills that role. Big mommy in the sky. We are slothful creatures, as I’m SURE any deities watching us would presume. How would we have honored them? How have we honored US?

We thing we’re so fucking advanced; we balance our gains on a colossal knife-edge. We have no insurance plan, no failsafe if things go wrong. We expand, consume, we extrude, and refuse to look back and lay down an infrastructure over the area we flood into. We have, thus far, demonstrated irresponsibility in stewardship of the third rocky ball nearest to sol. We have little interest in preserving humanity, it would seem. If there is a secret government genome preservation program you guys know about, but I do not, just post a comment or something. Maybe they have a website…?

We take our little worlds for granted. They fall apart RAPIDLY. And sometimes they fall apart for great sums of people all at once. It’s terrible to think about, but how else are things ever going to change? People can’t seem to make change without tremendous stimulation. How many tens of thousands of young men had to die in Vietnam before some citizens took to the streets? And even that was small-beans compared to what would be needed to exercise a change of course. It’s an undertaking no person, or people will ever achieve. We are still the play-thing of chance. As we whirl around our fiery little sun, we must always think about how we are fucking wasting time, not doing the right things, and likely, going to be exterminated by catastrophic calamity because we never prepared for it. Arrogance? Our utter downfall? FOR HUMANS? Who would have thought…

Another Day of Stuff and Crap

When I’m really busy, my brain aches and feels like a muscle that has been over-used. I don’t really know how else to explain that. I just had so much shit to do since this morning. And driving all around town (mostly for no good reason) doing things is hard for me. I’m terrified of getting in another car crash. I’m a fucking nervous, alert, highly defensive driver. I am nowhere near you on the road, and I’m going the speed limit so you totally hate me and think I’m an old lady.

I have a new med for my ADD symptoms. I’m not sure how it is going to work. We’ll see. I don’t feel any radical change, but then again, it’s been like 45 minutes.

I’d write more, but I’m doing my laundry, and I have to go walk over there and get it.


The 61 Hour Block

This unruly sum of time is the approximate distance between snaps, beginning Monday Night, and ending Thursday at roughly 5:30 pm. I call this one, the “Transaction Block,” because the primary thing happening during this time are roster moves and waiting for pending waiver claims to sort themselves out. I do some reading, looking over the data on the players I have available. I also like to cycle 3-4 players off my roster, and get some fresh faces in there. I may even start one of them.

Speaking of 61, I just so happen to be 6 and 1 in the Li’l Y Memorial Fantasy Football League, which has a VERY NICE payout for best regular season record and champ. The afore mentioned record puts me all alone in 1st place, with everyone eating my dust by at least a game, most @ 2, and only 1 guy ahead of me in total points scored.

I don’t suck at this, clearly.

My other team went from LAST PLACE to FIRST PLACE after ripping off 4 straight wins to get above .500 for the first time all year. AND 2nd place overall in points scored.



Seriously though, it’s just deductive reasoning. It’s nothing fancy; I have no inside scoop. Probabilities, looking at the scoring & settings, and waiver watching… that’s it. A winner you shall be.

So, take it or leave it, the records speak for themselves.

Last year, 10-4, 2nd place in the playoffs, 10 owner league.

Year before that (FIRST YEAR DOING THIS) 10-4 and 4th in the playoffs, 10 owner league.

Yeah, what you got. Bring it Sanchita. UNTZ.

I Have Insane Opinions… Apparently

I often grow frustrated with the world… especially when my family flips on the evening news. People are sensationalists, whores, secretly violent and utterly hopeless. Unintelligent, uninformed and most importantly, satisfied. I gather this within a few seconds of watching the news, and supplemental commercials. The people who sit there entranced by this garbage have no drive, because they are content serving as a cog in the greater machine. I think, based on my highly subjective judgmentalism that most people are just “coasting” along while some of us are fighting, every day, and have an appreciation for the “coasting” that most of the world gets to enjoy. I don’t know what it’s like not to WANT to be a better person, regardless of how it actually turns out. I’m fucking trying to be better. TRYING being the operative term, because so far I have mostly failed. But I will still try, even though I know the CHANCE of failing is pretty high. Fuck it, what do I have to lose? AND I could gain pride, which is disproportionately more valuable to me.

And this, I say is not the case with my peers, or the rest of the roughly 80 percent of you out there who fall into the criteria of “excess population.” George C. Scott was right (well, his character was right).

You know what fucking amazes me, every time I think about it? You need to study for weeks and practice for longer if you want to get a STATE DRIVERS LICENSE, but any two toothless illiterates of opposite orientations can make A WHOLE NEW HUMAN BEING without passing any sort of exam or meeting any form of requirement whatsoever. Uh, let me correct that, the requirement is: don’t wear a condom, and keep that hot dog in the bun!

There is no way we are righting this ship. You know it, and so do I. Hey, I’m not saying I’m going to live long enough to SEE the motherfucker burn, but I’m sure it will sometime relatively soon. Come on now people, this country is less than 250 years old… the Roman Empire stood, in one form or another, for around 1500 years. AND they ran their empire which covered the ENTIRE MEDITERRANEAN with soldiers and messages that had to be PHYSICALLY CARRIED to their recipients. And our government can’t handle the herding of 308 million cows to the television trough, let alone run a fucking empire via bird and boat. We have modern media and light speed information and we STILL aren’t going to last as long as the Romans did.

There are two instruments of dramatic change. One is outrage: which tends to be the product of sustained overall misery and overwhelming outcry. That is not near happening yet. Albeit, there are a lot of people out there calling for blood, but there are too many OTHERS who are doing ok, and they don’t have the need to revolt. If they were ALL being pinched, and they were irritated enough, the cows could be persuaded to stampede. Persuading a cow is not the ideal means to an end. It’s not nearly as effective as plan B.

Plan B: The REAL “ideal” circumstance that has a much higher probability of bringing about a broad-spectrum priority change is, sadly, calamity. It will take an Earth-shaking event of some form to cripple our understanding of the norm and our current blasé way of life. That will change when something really bad happens. People will get desperate and many will start dying of natural-selection type causes. Fitter, more able bodied humans endure, not the ones who have evolved in economic or societal evolutionary ladders.  People need to understand that inside them is a totally unique genetic sequence. THIS DOES NOT MAKE IT VALUABLE. It’s unique, sure. But if you are a waffle toaster at Denny’s and life with your wife “Candy” and your greatest dream is to drink Bud Lite all day long… WE DO NOT WANT YOUR GENETIC SEQUENCE. We are going to have to SELECT our OWN DESTINY, and craft our race as TRULY EVOLVED beings would do.

We fucking do it to plants, animals, fucking every single domestic animal EVER is a result of what I am suggesting WE DO TO OURSELVES. As a result of thinner populations, and global catastrophe, I SUGGEST that people would then be motivated to PRESERVE A VIABLE COPY of our human genome. In the event that another disaster occurred, the human race would be salvageable, and kept safe within a smaller population of genetically diverse individuals. Or it could stored as data electronically, in case of physical extinction. I am not advocating anything other than the inevitable, if the human race, as we currently understand it is going to endure.

We are a gluttonous bloated slob. LOOK AROUND SOMETIME. We are slow, gorged on sweet and fatty things, and presenting a fractured, divided infighting race to the rest of the universe. This is an animal planet, with harshly territorial and segregated units that operate towards independent goals of exploitation and superiority of resources.

NO FUCKING WONDER WE HAVEN’T HAD FIRST CONTACT. They flew in, scanned us with their shit, and said:

“We’ll come back in a few thousand years, when they’ve figured it out.”

It’s true.

And here’s MY proof.


So, I like the LYRICS to this Steve Winwood song While You See a Chance because they are keenly true to what I was just writing about in the last post… so I thought it would be great to link said music into my blog via youtube. However, THE OFFICIAL MUSIC VIDEO, CIRCA 1986, IS ONE OF THE MOST INSANE, OFF-TOPIC THINGS I HAVE EVER FUCKING SEEN. And it entirely took away from what I was hoping to convey with the lyrics…

It was so fucking crazy I linked it anyway. Just close your eyes the first time through… seriously. It will never be the same after you open them…

Ask yourself if struggling through your life FEELS LIKE mirror-flashy ninjas climbing a three dimensional food pyramid while trapped in the video game world of Tron.

Legally Speaking…

I get to go talk to a disability lawyer today, because disadvantaged people must do great combat to get any sort of assistance from the government. I know a lot of people just think I’m a taxpayer-dollar-freeloader because I want disability insurance… well, I guess I am a freeloader. But, at least my logic is sound: if I were NOT seeking the SSDI, I would likely be a transient mentally ill person STILL FORCED TO RELY ON COUNTY AND CITY WELFARE PROGRAMS, if not federally run ones as well. I cost the system MORE if you leave me to my own causes. I will deteriorate, and end up making a situation that costs far more in emergency personnel and time that it would have to just pay me so I can get healthy again. Pish, that just makes no fucking sense to me.

I want to re-enter the workforce ONCE I CAN. Social security wrote me and said: basically, we don’t think you’re ill enough to NOT be working… so go get a job.

It was nice of them to call and ask… OH WAIT, NO … THAT’S RIGHT, NO ONE CALLED ME. No one asked why I was not working, what the problems were that made it hard to be a functional person. Nope. Just gonna have a look at this 4000 year old piece of psychiatric letterhead we found with what appears to be your name on it… and according to this, you’re just fine. Now go get a job.

I can bitch about the unfairness of the world all I want. Fuck, that’s what this stupid fucking blog is for, right? This does not BECOME me, however…

I draw the line when it becomes about your attitude. I will not get DOWN or change my view of myself because of the bullshit of other people and society. WHY FUCKING BOTHER GOING THAT WAY?  Let’s work through it: The situation is shitty, regardless of what I can do, EXCEPT that I can have a positive attitude about it, so I will be able to keep going / trying. Having a shitty attitude about a shitty situation seems, to me, to be a harder way to go through life. That sounds shitty. SHITTY!!!!

So, don’t stick your head in the poop, step over it, and move the fuck on. Life isn’t going to change for you and be a boon to your life, YOU have to go out there and change it for yourself. No one hands you a fucking thing for free. Expect penalties for liberty and the necessity to CONSTANTLY FIGHT for your identity. We must prove who we are, to ourselves, to BECOME fit to survive in this fuck-ass world.

It’s harder to do than it sounds. But here I am, despite my fear, I’m going to see a lawyer and fight for my right to get help to be better again. Otherwise, I can just roll over and die. Blarg. Ded. The end.

That sounds like fun… not. See you later children of the 80s.

Morning Numerical Check-in

On a scale of 1 to 10 (1 = serious problem, 10 = not a problem), rate the following:

Emotional Health:     4

Physical Depression Symptoms:     8

Physical Anxiety Symptoms:     5

Racing Thoughts:     5

Depressed Thoughts:     7

Self-Esteem:     3

Concentration:     4

Enthusiasm:     6

Charisma:     5

Motivation:    3

Paranoia / Fear / Anxiety:     4

Outlook / Hope:     3

OVERALL:     5/10

Then I Loved You

The deepest lament—

Comes from the aching death of memory.

A crumbling tower


Almost  boastful amidst—

Scattered, bare trees.


I tasted summer in her–

When the petals open to sunshine,

Diligent yawns

Coming to bloom in smiles.

She touches me like music,

Green with wet spring days laughing,

Night’s warm entanglement


Weaving laces—

Twisting time.


The cold death in me,

Festering the flesh near the wound.

The traces spread,

They invade my blood.

Feeding on my insides,

Gorging themselves on me.

I feel each new moment of pain,

I am subsumed by my despair.

I am become mangled rot—

At your feet, begging, begging.

Embrace what is left of me,

I am nothing now.

I am rage alone.


Bring down this old tower.

The snow piles in the rafters,

And the warmth has gone out of the hearth.

Downed leaves piled,

Crisping in a cold winter glow.

Longing to be consumed,

In the fire of her again.

Check Check One Two One Two

So, It’s the morning. I’m going to go see an old friend today, and drink some coffee and whatnot. Sounds harmless, but I get anxious, even about safe things like this. I can already feel it in my body, like electric anticipation gone awry, zapping and pinching me in uncomfortable and attention-getting ways. I shiver and sweat and feel my heart pounding in my chest. And even if it was something as simple as going to get some gas at the Arco, I might feel the same. It’s just the thought of leaving, going on a mission (I call errands ‘missions’), and going out there where anything could happen. You have to be prepared, because ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN. ANYTHING!

I can’t stress how random and horrible the world is. It really truly is. You MUST be prepared at all times against random insanity coming your way or including you in the collateral damage. Be aware, be alert. Have your ‘dukes’ up.

I get so wound-up in that thinking that I freak out. Some is good, some is preparedness. Too much is an anxiety attack. As usual, my moods know no ceilings or boundaries, and run rampant with direction and without discernible course. Eh.

So, I’m not really feeling it, but maybe I can do something creative today. That last one was a long time ago, back in the glory days. Good reminders and good memories.

Underfoot (2006)

Marks were left in the snow.

Sound ricocheted from tree to tree, echoing on into changing noises from far away. Once it started, no one knew where it came from. Like vines that coil and slither around every tall place of memory and bend they touch everything with sounds.

Eyes, with acceleration grew stiff and painful with cold. But that did not stop the motion, continuing, destined, destined. The snow is a traitor.

Other creatures are avoiding, leaping into higher branches looking down, suddenly attentive. How long have they seen the course traced like an artery in the forest, life surging, pulsing downhill; pressure? Time and time again.

How they cackle; their moans and whimpers and cries sting the ears like frostbite! All around, no direction to be discerned. Coming from everywhere and nowhere: fear makes the heart burn with a mad-fire faster than wings.

Everyone stops to watch the thing already seen. Knowing and telling the tale before it’s told. Breathing and hungry lungs ripping the silence. Eyes above. Running like a panic steel-cold pellets deep in the flesh screaming faster now!

The feet keep moving, moving with calculated motion, muscles flexing, contracting, springing ahead again again. Little nose burning with jagged ice tearing at every drink of cold clear future.

Streaking like the sun in shattered clouds shining bright with life. Little cinders burn and crackle when air runs over them.

Don’t look back! Back is the trick where all hope is lost!

It would be doom. Witnesses always tell the tale much greater, embellishments or not, it was still the wrong thing to do. Fear had posed the dare, but it would not be taken.

Everyone was watching.

Riding high, running with the spirits and the wind and the spirits of the wind and the hands that cradle and lift into the sky push along tired shoulders the way the Hawks fly.

Swerving; each placement and then the next perfect, everyone knew the path but even that could be tricky, unless; knowing just where to put every step along the way.







And  moving.

Couldn’t help it.

Got scared.

Still going though, didn’t think about the rest. Little scary things went creepy creepy into still calm waters: thoughts in concentration: hiding. Now everything had ripples, what if what if?

Now there was doubt.

Alarm alarm!

The birds in the trees let the whole world know what it already knew if it listened.

Sounds underfoot went a long way in the ground. The birds could never understand that.

Broken hollow, or other empty space? They went zooming by. Chances. No, no. The changing breeze that ran like squirrels on trees went through and through and spoke only of unfamiliar places. Not there yet but soon.

Jolt! Like sky fire at night their sounds were near! Here! All throughout everyone still seemed to be watching. Sound broke the silent place but only some would really see the course winding swiftly through the towers they touched the sky. Behind the veil that shrouded light and day gray watching watching watching.

A finger tracing the line in the soft fresh snow that led the way towards home. Hanging over, sheltering little frail bodies from the shivering when it comes down all day.

All creatures stopped their moments for this, one.

What if there were a better, faster, newer way?

Remembering then that no one ever came back who had a better way to go. That story was never told. Maybe never by anyone? Distracted. The body felt light, Head swimming with dizzy thoughts. Snow falling off trees and clumping on the ground, down into streams and rivers every season. When it rains the plants grow. Sometimes, it all dries up and sometimes it all burns down. Over and over.

Everything and everyone: they are just fragments; the pieces of life coalescing, breaking, reforming. Time and time again. A cycle; like the breath of the earth coming up in the morning when it’s still cold. Steam. Clouds. Rain. Dry. Salt and stone crushing with great strain and time, breaking, grinding, aching. Deep underneath things boil. It went down and comes back up again like bubbles in a hot spring; they popped at the top they flatten out calm again. Soil: after many feet knew them, used them, water comes to wash it all away, goes down again. Listening to the ground would tell the tale. They listen well. The pieces of life touching deep roots, drink sky. Stories. Time and time again.

Keen eyes in the bush with the sun going down behind the black clouds. Everyone watching. Trees take breaths, their tears, maybe sad; sap runs down their cheeks so slow only other plants could see. It must be pain to see all the same over and over, all the outcomes, and nothing to do but stand and watch and cry. A crust of ice all over everything. It is too cold for fears. Moments happen. The smells change; something known before. The steps were getting easier now.

Pulled-back, like breaking the sky in pieces when the storms come, with no resistance, tearing through the belly of the woods.

Destined, destined.

Snowfall continues on through the evening coating the ground in something soft and wet and cold but peaceful. All over arms that reach the sun and falling to the ground in quiet grunts. The flex and tear of muscles burning with radiant fire and crying for release. Dew on the skin was ice in a second. And ember burning brightly in the darkness.

The brown place of safety within sight, moments moments. Every instant: agony. Muscles, skin and bone. Black and silent. Birds and trees.

To sleep, or not to sleep?

I wake up too early… probably because of the Effexor. Meh, I can manage it. I had been moving it around, steadily towards my ideal time/ I lost ground today though with a before 3 am wake up alarm going off in my brain. Not good.

I have therapy today, and I am a little nervous about it. I just don’t know who I am anymore, and I don’t know if I will like what I find. I have such terrible self-hate sometimes, it just goes so deep. I tried so hard to smash my life into bits, on several occasions. We are people bred of chaos and have minds like seas in tumult. We strain against the ever-cresting wave. Looking down on us from above, and breaking down on us all. Crushing us flat, scattering us wildly. All 3 million mentally ill people in this fucking country deserve not to be treated the way they are. We deserve not to be treated like fucking idiots. We aren’t. I’m fighting so hard for recognition I will never earn. For successes I will never garner. For love I will never be responsible enough to have again. It’s a sad relapsing truth, and facing the abyss alone daunts me.

As it does us all.

Mood at about a 4 of 10 right now. I just wonder why I’m wasting everyone’s time. My life is frustrating to hold in my mind. It weighs on me with a tremendous force of guilt and failure. Loss  of respect. Identity drifting away on the tide. We are all going to be lost at sea, me and all 3 million of my peers, who are so vehemently hated by the world, but also by themselves.

I (Don’t) HATE Football!!!!

It’s a hard line to walk. I was pretty outraged earlier this year over the MNF Green Bay at Seattle game… but then again, who WASN’T outraged by that?

You might wonder why a nerdy, non-athletic anti-social goober enjoys competitive football… it doesn’t seem like the “area” my kinds of people often wander into. But the NFL is a different kind of sport, as well. It doesn’t take a fucking genius to figure out a Baseball game. Most other sports are one-dimensional by comparison. Fucking soccer? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? YOU ARE… RIGHT?

In the NFL, every down has a play, every play is a coordinated deception by 11 HUGE and differently shaped men, attempting to hide their intent to get the ball forward a positive distance. It’s a lot more complicated than chess, though I often draw that simile. I say that, because it forces you to think about MOVES. Where is this guy going to go this play? Who lines up across from him? What type of coverage is it? Can we change the play at the line, in case the defense shows its hand?

Doing any of that in golf are they?

Football is about players, making LARGE plays in the confines of their offensive or defensive roles. It’s about athletes who have made their bodies their business, and their talents are physical AND mental. Can’t be a fucking idiot and expect to learn the Patriot’s offense (Chad proved this).

GAME-smart guys (no intellectuals in that bunch) guys playing their guts out every single down. Gotta love that shit. Though the NFL brings out the emotions of many, for me, this is about seeing different guys do great and often unbelievably athletic things. Keeping track of what they do, and how they do it. It’s a statistician’s dream, and one solitary nerd’s favorite winter occupation.

Checking In to Braintown

Hey blog

Slowly but surely, I feel like I am making incremental steps towards having a stable mind. I think this component has been my first objective to achieve for some time now. I have dealt with this “monkey mind” business for long enough. I think the mood-stabilizers are helping to clear that murk… somewhat.  I have suggested treatment with an ADD medication to my doctor. Naturally, she is nervous about causing mania.

OK, now I get to be a little bit pedantic: it’s essential to understand that mental illness diagnoses are not, in and of themselves, accurate descriptors of individual cases, because of the seemingly endless permutations / manifestations of the distinct diseases. By its various DSM IV classifications, mental illness has great variety, symptoms that clearly overlap, and gray areas where one disorder’s description can blend into another. So, why then do we hold so firm to concrete diagnoses? Is this just another attempt by our organization-inclined mentality to classify and archive clusters of symptoms by generic names?

I believe, and I might be a tad alone on this one, that SYMPTOMS, not DIAGNOSES should be treated, and responded to. Not all mental illness can be treated the same way, DUH. So if the medications we take can be ever changing, why then does the diagnosis stay the same? That doesn’t make much sense to me.

I treat my symptoms with medications;  medications that have a designed effect, processed by my unique metabolism and in quantities that prove effective doses regardless of dosing norms. Shouldn’t it always be this way?

Right now, in terms of symptoms, I deal MOST with:

  1. Lack of Concentration
  2. Mood Irregularity
  3. Depression
  4. Social Anxiety

If I could hammer down 1, then 4 would probably go away as well. 2 is a product of mood stabilization, and that takes time. 3 can be addressed through an SSNRI. That worked before, and it works now.  I hate not being able to think clearly. Having a mind that just wanders off, like a spinning top, zipping off on a chaos-driven course.

Perhaps in time, these issues will be no more. But we address the ways they impact my life, not the way a book says they should be treated. Such bullshit.

Letter to RI San Diego

To whom it may concern,

I was until a couple of days ago, a participant in Marlene’s WRAP Class. I would like to say, first off, that she is a great person, and so was her trainee Elizabeth (Liz). They both had good attitudes, and offered a lot of insight and comments that apply directly to my life, and had what it takes to understand and relate to people. I am grateful for the time I had with them, and what I was able to share with them. I gave a great deal of my time, energy and thoughts to the class, and I promise you that those two facilitators know who I am, and notice now that I am not there.

With that in mind, I’d like to say that I am very dissatisfied with the curriculum the WRAP class promotes. I was only able to join after session 2, so I did not take lesson 1 until this Wednesday, after completing 80% of the program. My interpretation of lesson 1 (and later verified by peers and coordinators), was that: completing the WRAP is one large step towards RECOVERY: a word and idea indicating a final, unchanging state of permanent cessation of the symptoms of mental illness, and quite possibly, relief from the need for medications as well. Recovery is an EXCLUSIVE word, and it does not apply as a generic principal in treating the extreme variety found in the world of mental illnesses (Why is your DSM IV so thick?). I find it hard to believe that an organization that advances the idea of treating and caring for the mentally ill could be so ignorant, uninformed and subjective.

The failure of this program is that it attempted to conjure false hope from a philosophical and then factual representation of recovery as an achievable concrete goal. Promoting this idea, as done in your program, is wrong. I will never be fully “recovered” from bipolar disorder. My brain, like any living piece of organic matter, grows and changes every day. The disease that affects the re-uptake of neurochemicals in my brain WILL CHANGE OVER TIME as the organ grows, and the majority of mental health patients NEED TO CHANGE THEIR MEDS BECAUSE THEY OFTEN BECOME LESS EFFECTIVE OR STOP WORKING ALTOGETHER. Where in “recovery” do you talk about that? Where are the people who DON’T ever make it to your unrealistic idea of “recovery?” What happens to them when they are crushed by disappointment over their failure, because YOU TAUGHT THEM THEY COULD FULLY RECOVER  AND NOW THEY STILL HAVE SYMPTOMS. Are you ever cured of Down’s Syndrome? Color-blindness?

The thesis of WRAP is flawed, exclusive and fundamentally incorrect. If you are serious about getting people to deal with their mental illness, you can’t go feeding them this information about “recovery.” The word you should be using is “perseverance,” because the struggle for good mental health is A CONSTANT STRUGGLE, and if lapses in vigilance occur, mental illness becomes worse, slowly but surely weakening quality of life. It requires a level of energy you seem afraid to reveal to these clients, because most of them won’t go for it, because it’s too hard. A real message SHOULD be hard to take, because NOTHING WORTH ANYTHING COMES EASY.

The format of the class makes the already limited information you disperse almost entirely useless, and the experience of enduring the 2 hour sessions, wholly frustrating. Either: have a lecture with slides, notes and explanations, or make it a group sharing class with some topics and discussion. Not both. The group becomes a melee of suggestions, inane comments and the nattering of those who enjoy hearing themselves “share” about the many things they do or have done with their lives. It’s not a therapy session, it’s a class where learning is done. You need someone in there who can get control. Right now, your lessons suffer because of “sharing” by participants consuming great stretches of time, and then people are hurt or offended when they are asked to stop talking so the next slide can be covered. You don’t get the information out there, and you alienate group members from their coordinators at the same time.

You want to make a difference? Get control of this program. It’s a joke, right now. Absolute waste of time, and I would not recommend it to anyone.You need an instructor who can get a message through to these people. We are in there for help. I felt not-helped. I felt misused, and as though I had been tricked into giving your program my time and energy. I bet I’m not alone, as was indicated by others in the group who spoke out with me when I called the program out on Wednesday.

I’m a UCSB English major, college graduate, amateur scientist and part-time scholar. I am charismatic, opinionated, caring and a truly honest and straightforward person. I am educated, savvy, very funny and kind. I think you people are doing REAL HARM with WRAP; sending that “recovery” message out to the mentally ill. It’s garbage.

I would prefer a dignified response from someone in a position to comprehend the nature of the problem. Your feedback is greatly appreciated on this important community matter.


Westin Bailey

Useless Information

It bothers me when people widely distribute statistical information as though it had relevance, but in truth, contains no value whatsoever. A great example is to say something like: “Oakland has lost to San Diego in thirteen consecutive match-ups.” This seemingly staggering statistic is USED to infer that San Diego has an advantage if these teams meet again.

If you don’t see something wrong with that, then allow me to enlighten you: this stat has no value, because it is just a PART of a much larger equation, extracted for its shock value, but not for its factual relevance and not including any context. Without some background information, what good is that stat? Even thought I inherently like what it says, I know better than to believe it.

Questions I might be asking would look like: who was on the offensive and defensive lines for those match-ups, and were they the same guys, or different guys? Who won the match-ups on the line in those games and was someone on the line getting beat over and over? What were each team’s records during the years this streak went on? Were corners playing bump-and-run physical coverage, zone, or man-to-man?

See how much farther you can dig to unearth the other things that go into this one-line statistic? It’s patently unfair to say “they’ve won 13 in a row” or whatever, because it has no meaning without the WHOLE FUCKING THING being illuminated. Maybe it’s not that surprising, given the context. Who knows? If you just give that stat, and believe it, you never dig, and never learn the truth.

I find I have this evaluation in most fantasy football topics on assessing player value. I have my own ways of formulating POTENTIAL, which is ultimately a better word than value, which implies direct worth, where potential is referencing expected growth.

Most people do not think this way for some reason. I’d say my whole fantasy football perspective can be summed up in one word: probabilities. I ALWAYS calculate the probabilities of success for a given game, or other thing I can come up with. I take as many factors as I can come up with into account. AS MANY AS I CAN. The more variables in the equation, the more accurate it becomes, in my opinion. Chaos, being unpredictable (injuries, lightning strikes, drops, the turf monster), can’t really be calculated, so we can get close, but not right on. A somewhat resolvable image is better than no image at all, right? At least this way, I have a provable, working hypothesis to base my roster moves on, week in and out. I am forced, circumstantially, to act on incomplete information since I’m not an insider, football scout or otherwise professionally involved. The end result is that my opinions weigh heavily on my interpretation of the facts. But I’d say the proof has been in the pudding since the get-go…

I’ve finished, in consecutive years, 4th, 2nd and now LEAD my most prestigious league at 4-1. I’d say I have SOME IDEA what I’m doing. Despite the doubters.

So, moral of the story is, if you’re going to splurt out a stupid fucking number, THINK: what would Drake do to HIS equation? He’d probably add another variable. And so should you, if you think of one.

The Ex Scoop

I tend to think badly about myself, despite what other people may say. I think I am right to try, at least, to be aware of my faults, as to not repeat them. I am, as my personal ad mentions, a different fellow. I am reflective, cuddly, but also disturbing and morose. My demeanor can change rapidly. The point of this is: that unless you are interested and educated in mental illness, you will not understand me at all. This was the fate of my last relationship, where I fell for a girl who I thought would “get” me. And in a lot of ways she did understand me on a deeper than usual level. We had a lot in common, and could always make each other laugh. However, the part of me that I struggle with the most is the part she could not cope with or understand.

I am to blame here, because the end of our relationship together was marred by a 2 month dive, for me, into a depressed state. I tried to live a life that I was just not able to keep up with. I wanted to win her, so I tried to keep her by promising the things she wanted: stability, money, residence and hope for a future. I got depressed, and the tension between us built until it snapped, and she became physically violent. I had her arrested for assault, as I was rendered beaten, bloody and bitten.

In my heart, I KNEW that if I had been “on top of it” I might have noticed the depression creeping on, or if we had been better mental health communicators, we could have worked together on it. But she’s not that kind of girl. Seeking knowledge does not inspire her, nor does it entertain her. Even if someone she loved would forever need to battle mental illness, she would not really try to understand it enough to know what to do,  or what symptoms look like. similarly, as most uneducated people do, she usually reacted with anger, sadness or frustration at my unpredictable moods, and disconnected stoicism often caused by depression. People who don’t know about mental illness take the symptoms as an attack on them, and thus, defend themselves as if being verbally / mentally attacked. This just compounds the problem, and creates a depressed rage which can quickly escalate.

I’m not violent. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want to be snuggled by someone who loves me when I get sad. I don’t want to be yelled at. I already know I’m fucked up.

I felt bad, that I basically “tuned out” of our relationship, because I got depressed and stopped doing all the things a decent boyfriend should do. I lost that “zest for life,” and that knocked the wind out of our partnership. She took this as a sign of disinterest, or took personal umbrage to my behavior. I regretted this greatly, so, after the dust settled we tried to be friends again. I had a different set of criteria in mind for the new way we would relate to each other. I wanted to have an exchange, where we can help each other, in a given circumstance,  to cope with life’s hardships together (via Skype).

I was perturbed to find she had abandoned hope of getting free healthcare and continued psychiatric medication. For people who ARE mentally ill, as she is, it’s almost mandatory to have and take medication daily. It sucks when you do not. Really.

I also have a fundamentally different attitude about life: I strive, and I know it’s really “all on me.” Personal responsibility is my guiding principle. I am decisive, informed and diligent about maintaining a healthy life and a positive but realistic attitude. She had none of these attributes, and insisted on the standard model of coping, which is to vent frustration regularly while failing to address the source (often a matter of overreaction or misinterpretation), or self-regulate in any way.

In truth, I just got tired of talking to someone far less intelligent, and also  NOT INTERESTED in being a “better, stronger, faster” person. I’m always looking to improve. If I don’t know something, I go find out about it. I learn constantly. I’m not content with ignorance… but she is. And that I knew was true in the beginning, but I thought her potential fount of love and affection would overcome this flaw. It would be a welcome trade-off, IF I could get someone who could comfort me when I was at my lowest and stick with me to show me that love is stronger than depression.  Instead, she cut me off from said fountain for being too fucking crazy and left me to deal with my sorrow, alone. She demonstrated how love = stability, money, possessions, automobiles and getting “what she deserves.”

We deserve only what we earn in the world. We only have one chance. We must not waste it.

I do blame myself for having my depression be the catalyst. I love so strongly, but behind that is a fucked up mess with stuff on the floor and shit just piled up all disorganized. It’s the truth, but I still hold out hope that someone may stumble upon me, and consider a relationship as “a good fixer-upper opportunity.”

I’m not sad. Her reaction to my sorta-hospitalization was appalling. She just does not get it, and makes no effort to get it. So I tuned out, for good. And I feel ok with that, because I need a better human in my circle. I need someone I can trust. Can’t trust a liar with no self-control, can you?

I hope she does ok in the world, I guess. She’s in with the herd now, and headed wherever they all go together. I doubt we will meet again.


I wake up early, and I get some serious time to sit and think. usually, for a mentally ill person, this is not good. My mind wandering is a HUGE problem already, but while symptomatic, it can depart altogether to a far away place full of much big bad and not good also. I have to stay vigilant, all the fucking time, to ward off the encroaching daydream or wandering thought-train. My brain is totally disrespectful, and does not comply with the general desires of the rest of the unit. This is why I treat it with neurochemical inhibitors. Which makes sense to me, but the general level of fussiness displayed by my brain still seems uncalled for.

I’ve been wanting to write more. Like poetry, like I used to. I wrote short stories, had great novel ideas, and all sorts of other creative shit. I do not believe any of the original ideas I’ve had are in any way damaged… that is, I still retain their detail in my mind. However, the ambition, dedication and energy required to express these highly deep and thought-provoking worlds, stories, poems and whatnot, is beyond me. Far beyond my reach, especially right now. I can hardly tough the person I used to be, a thoughtful intellectual man, who was attractive, savvy, charming. Shit dude… that guy Is dead. He died around 2003. Then Dick-boy took over, and he just HAD to have Jennifer. Starved animals will eat their young to survive, but what’s my excuse? I have none. I needed a squeeze, I should have just grabbed a wad of tissues and flipped on the porn. I needed comfort… and that I should have seen WAY early on was just not in the ballpark of her capabilities. Superiority complex not a great thing to be flaunting over someone with a mentally ill brain… I would think.

I never fucking know what I need. I’m the worst person I know at taking care of me. I hardly ever listen to the right thing, and almost always act on emotions, without thinking. I never stop and slow down, I just step right in the shit-pile, and then get mad about it once I’m knee deep. Great plan fuck-tard. Best part of that whole thing, is that if you happen to be NEARBY while any of this is going on, I will MOST CERTAINLY get mad at you, and for no reason whatsoever that you will be able to discern.

It’s true though. I live my life, being reminded of this stuff. It’s all a part of my so called “legacy.” The things I do in the world, the lives I impact, affect, the people who change mine… I’m not sure where I was going with that. I think I was going to point out how many times my life has been fucked up by other individuals being let inside the “circle,” and then fucking me in the ear-hole with a hot iron poker.  And then I was going to point out that if I had actually vetted these people, or known a fucking thing about myself, I might not have been smashing my face into an immovable wall of misunderstanding all this time. let’s go ahead and add that to the list of ways I have disappointed myself and others.

I’ve tried to give up the idea of being social. It seems like that only causes more problems. I will try to be better, but I find the more focus I gain, the less I enjoy what I can see.
Ok, well, that’s enough MOOPERS for now. Come back later when you feel cheerful, and I’ll find a new and most distasteful way to break your heart.

Crime Stoppers on Alert

I’m awake at 1:24 am today, much to my dismay. But fortunately I was awake just in tome to see what I was SURE was a group of men trying to get into people’s cars right outside my window. I was sure enough to call 911 and inform them of what I saw. I would normally not do so, but I JUST READ a sign above the mailboxes that had information about a car being broken into. I also distinctly heard one of the men shout “hey, this one’s open!”

So, “I went in the back room and called the law.”

And the police came out and called me on the phone, instead of interviewing me, since it’s fucking butt-hole-thirty am right now. But anyway, I just wanted to be SURE that there wasn’t any repeat of someone having their shit stolen. It’s happened to me before, so I really sympathize. I am sincerely interested in insuring that crime does not fester because of lackadaisical community members. Fuck criminals. If I had my way, they would either be rehabilitated correctly to participate healthily in society, or shot in the fucking head with 1 bullet. Or, would you rather pay ten thousand dollars an hour per “inmate” sitting on death-row waiting to die? Which is more cost-effective? Am I spending YOUR tax dollars wisely by keeping someone alive who I intend to kill at a later date, and I also have no real reason to delay but will? Which makes more sense to you?

Again, I proclaim that a return to the Feudal System would put some fucking spice back into this sad ass country. Make it all about classes and indentured servitude. You want to be a shithead your whole life? YOU my friend, get to be a Serf… now go scoop some filth.

I believe that people, in general, take their existence for granted because it is usually never threatened. They have no reason to have any attenuated senses (intellect, as well as common-sense included), and are genuinely uncaring about the relevant issues that impede the likelihood of human longevity.

You NEED a “King” (though, if it were me, I’d prefer to be called [more accurate to the position’s function] “Dictator Tyrant”) to smash people who don’t belong in the system, or who stand against it for no good reason. Albeit, though deadly force is our tool against opposing elements, we are still FUNDAMENTALLY and PURELY Democratic, in the sense we are willing to change what does not work, based on what is good for the WHOLE. We are ALL interested in participating, and are not a part of the “free-ride” program of governmental responsibility. The system I impose should be open to change, BUT NOT COMPROMISE. That’s exactly the thing that I believe will ultimately destroy the American way of life, as it stands now. It would be governmental collapse of integrity based on a policy of having overspent the value of the dollar, ans shrived consumer confidence in the economy. It may well happen… but who fucking knows? Shoot me a text if you do.

What RISES from the ashes is what concerns me, because THIS whole way of doing things things is clearly untenable. Something is going to give, and dramatic change is likely to ensue. I know people with disabilities, in my “King” led world, would largely be eradicated by NOT being  allowed to breed, at least. No reason to kill people if they are not spreading genetic diseases, and not hurting anyone. BiPolar people are still pretty damn creative, and so do other mentally ill people. For each unique insight our genetic randomness has shown (even the problematic ones), there is a reason for observation and understanding. We who suffer symptoms can cope, most of the time, and are primarily interested in being alive.

I know that, in time,. the only real way to cure BiPolar disorder is to stop giving it to people (via my genes). Well, I have not made another person so far, and I do not intend to. I just SEE the issue, not the solution. I see pieces of a potentially awful, poop-city collapse, but when and how it all unfolds, only time and her mistress calamity shall ring the bell, and when it rings out, know that it tolls for thee.

And so, time marches on.

Well, There it is

I’ve been thinking more since I started taking meds again. I’ve become aware of how deeply ashamed of myself I am. A moment of unwelcome emotional clarity, I guess.  I get caught up in my history of regret, and I wonder what I’m still doing? Why do I continue to exist? What drives my continued activity? Haven’t I taken from everyone enough already?

I’m up against a simple choice: It seems to me, like many people may face this, and turn away from what they should do. When I have that feeling, of wanting to give in, surrender and spiral down into nothing, I don’t want to. I don’t want to be in that state. I hate it. It does not make me feel anything good. I want to be proud. I want to feel good about myself. I hate that I have few reasons to feel good about myself. I have no one, I am no body. I face my illness alone.

I will always have a support group or network or safety-net.  I will have the care of doctors. Will I have someone who knows my heart, trusts me and loves me? Fuck no. Because anyone worth their weight in tissues is going to acquire a mate with an EQUAL set of values, abilities and goals. I have no future. I have no plan. I have nothing, and I will not procreate. I have no desirable quality to entice said “know-er of my heart” into proximity.

Such endeavors are futile, because I can’t trust myself. How can anyone else? I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’ll keep sticking my nose up, and trying to get higher. I want to rise. I’m tired of being a glop of poo snot.

Each day, I get up, and I go. Each day, I try to look for what little good there is for me.

Be One With the Rock

Sometimes I think like a rock. Rocks have been doing what they do, being melted down,  smashed, burped up, exposed to the air, eroded and broken down into dirt for billions of years. Despite the example of the Earth-processes we have become tentatively aware of, we still don’t consider any of the implications of that knowledge. We, human beings, do not live long enough to perceive the passage of time the way, say, a rock does (or, would, if a rock could think…). A sedimentary rock takes thousands of years (and things acting upon it all the while) to become a metamorphic rock, and even longer before it is exposed on the surface for study. Humans live under 120 years, which is little more than a sneeze on the geologic timescale.

This really goes back to my assertion that life “is an uncontrolled biological process, growing unregulated across the surface of the Earth.” It won’t be in my lifetime before that becomes  “regulated growth,” because we have a WAYS to go in our understanding of genetics… and frankly, there’s no current demand to change things. People are fine, for now, as long as there is no massive calamity preventing them from overpopulating the planet.

Back on the topic of rocks, humans have, I have observed, very little understanding of WHAT their environment actually is. I swear to fucking monkey Jesus that I might be the ONLY person on Earth who steps off the plane into a new place and wonders, right off, about the geology of the landscape. I lived on an alluvial fan for the longest fucking time, and considering I prefer minerals and meta-morphology, you can’t even imagine what that was like. GEOLOGY HUMOR? Get the fuck out of town! No, seriously, go…

We grow like mold on bread. Spreading, spreading, spreading with no hope of being controlled, downsized or properly maintained. I believe that, at this point, slow deterioration seems inevitable, but calamity or tremendous self-inflicted disaster may cause the sort of change I’ve been alluding to. Humans are out of control, and could use a HUGE reset. And perhaps they will have one, the sky God sure knows there are tons of fucking ways to kill humans on the Earth. Or fuck up their cities, which they stupidly build in arbitrary, dumb, ill-conceived places. Someone will probably pay the price for a decision made back when explorers WALKED to new areas, and had like a stick and some food and a bedroll, and drew their maps with charcoal on leaves and bark. Probably didn’t know much about global geology and plate tectonics… just a guess.

Well, it’s been fun chatting. As you can see, I have strange thoughts. I like to express my vastly different perspective on the world. Humans are totally fleeting, and largely irrelevant. During this time, many will struggle and die and be utterly erased from genetic existence. just too many fucking people on the planet, no pun intended.

So, think about that. Think like a rock. What’s the long term implication? THINK.

Personal / Synopsis

My profile blurb, as it stands now on OkCupid (not really looking for a relationship, but friends for sure). I want whoever I may meet to know who they are getting involved with. Seems fair to me, as I would expect the same. I also want to use this as a reference point, in the event that my opinion of my circumstance changes one way or the other:

Hi there. I’m not a very “mainstream” fellow, in both mind and body. I am an ever-learning intellectual, and “idiot savant” burdened with BiPolar II disorder. I have great capacity for expression, but at a huge cost. My moods are irregular, and while nonviolent, I can be hard to deal with. It’s shocking for someone who has never been with a MAN who has severe depression, because most women need that guy in their life to be STABLE and STRONG, forever SUPPORTIVE and SOLID (nice alliteration, right?). That is not me. I am inconsistent, often anxious, fleeting of thought, exuberant, forgetful and occasionally brilliant. I am not for you, if you don’t know what mental illness is like.

So, for the 1% out there who might catch a look at this, hello there! I’m Westin, and I am a great example of how to NOT be successful in the world. It saddens me to say, but I have tried to be an independent person, husband, full-time employee, college graduate and equal relationship partner, and I have failed at each and every one. Over the course of my independence, I squandered resources, burdened my family with debt, and eventually required rescue from a continuing deterioration of my life.

Look… if you’re going to get involved in my world, you should probably know this shit. I want to be straight with you. I’m not a liar, and I won’t try and obfuscate my mistakes. I’m learning from them, and trying to be a better person instead. Isn’t that the right attitude to have?

As I was saying, my current situation is what we sports people refer to as a “rebuilding season,” after the “fire-sale” of high paid talent, we’re down the bear-bones and trying to create “winning-mentality” and a great ballclub for the next few seasons. Sounds good, right?

I was saved by my parents, who are, quite possibly, the two most unconditionally loving people I have ever heard of. They respect, value and care for me with all their crinkled old rasin-like hearts. We all live together in an apartment in La Mesa, where we can all help each other get by on a daily basis. Our awesome little family-unit is working together (since my Mom has Major Depression disorder) to get mentally healthy, and if you are one of those savvy individuals who has an open mind or first-hand experience, you might be right for the part of “new friend.”

I have no car that I own, though have access to a vehicle whenever I would potentially need it. I am by NO MEANS wealthy. I receive state disability (and federal soon as well), for now, while I adjust to a brand new cocktail of meds (which takes MONTHS to get working correctly). I have goals for my future, and unlike your average dude, they look more like:

1) Get the correct neurochemical balance in your brain to function on a daily basis.

2) Meet with your doctor regularly and therapist to follow through on continuing good mental health.

3) Classes, group therapy and studies designed to help me cope when symptoms happen.

4) Smoke a huge bowl.

5) Play Age of Empires III.

6) Eat a food and have a nap.

In my heart, I have big emotions and HUGE romantic love. I trust with my whole self, and absolutely melt into a puddle when I fall for a girl. I am a great person to relate to, ladies, as I have to be REALLY KEENLY AWARE of my own feelings, all the time, as part of my effort to belay BiPolar symptoms. I get what you feel, and if you happen to be mentally ill as well, we would probably have a lot to discuss.

I say “never finished college” up there in my list of fails… to be fair, I’ve completed 98% of the units to have an AA in English / Liberal Arts (emphasis on biblical literature and the Libertine era & Restoration in Great Brittan), but, as things tend to go in my life… I can phase rapidly into depression, which can cause a total lack of focus, interest and motivation. It becomes painfully hard to do anything repetitive for any measurable length of time. My brain and its chemicals are changing all the time. It’s an ever-renewed battle, day to day; I have to be vigilant.

I’m not high-strung. I’m not violent. I can be mean when I get depressed, but if you KNOW A DAMN THING about mental illness, you will understand what being depressed is all about. I don’t ever want to hurt anyone, and if you don’t take my depression as a personal assault on your virtue and existence, I think we’ll be ok.

I am going to have a good life. I am not a quitter, despite my HUGE IMPAIRMENT, which causes its fair share of problems, I will not give up on having my life the way I want it. I want to go back and fix computers again (which I’m damn good at). My good family friend wants me to be her IT Manager at her AC repair business here in town. That is something to look forward to. I have applicable, money-making skills. I can put them to use, and make enough money to get by, have a little place and buy an 1/8 of weed every week or so.

If you made it down here, for whatever reason, I thank you. I am a smart guy, a loving huggy-bear. A great listener and a truly loving + caring man. I am lonely, out here dealing with my disorder all by myself. I could use a friend to talk to, relate to. I don’t expect a miracle. I’ve been in love, been married, tried to be a functional partner for a woman, but I failed at it. I would not get my hopes up for that type of relationship, but I will never close the door. Never, because I still hope, and want to fall for someone, and do all that shit all over again. I want a chance to make it right, with someone new, and not have an 0 – 3 record in said relationship super bowl.

I am proud, despite all the bullshit I’ve fucked up in my time wandering the Earth. I am out here, looking for a like-minded soul. If you want to get to know a real goober faced idiot poop-tard, shoot me a message. And thank you for reading.

Since music is such a big part of my life, I include this playlist, which is a benchmark for who I am, right now, and what my life is like, right now. Please only consider thematic or genre-related observations about the music. Lyrics and titles are less important that imagery, tempo and overall message:

For Whom the Bell Tolls – Metallica
Holiday – Green Day
Portrait of Authority – Bad Religion
Better Man – Pearl Jam
No One in the World – Anita Baker
Yesterday – The Beatles
Mad World – Tears for Fears (Covered by Gary Jules)
Dun Ringill – Jethro Tull
The Sign of Fire – The Fixx
Is This Love – Bob Marley
You Make my Dreams Come True – Hall & Oates
Wild Sex (In the Working Class) – Oingo Boingo
Let’s Groove Tonight – Earth, Wind and Fire
Off the Wall – Michael Jackson
Sweet Emotion – Aerosmith
People are Strange – The Doors
It Keeps You Runnin’ – The Doobie Brothers
Second Hand Store – Joe Walsh
Karma Police – Radiohead
While You See a Chance – Steve Winwood

(1 hour,  12 minutes)

Early Morning Underwear

I have very irregular sleep. Not totally confident my current side-effect will evaporate along with the other ones, but you never know. I rise before the sun. I sit in the dark and have anxious, high-speed thoughts tumbling around in my brain all the time. I smoke a bowl, and that tends to slow down, and I can begin to make sense of things and write.  Incidental or unintentional random happenings can be potent triggers, sending me off into an unpleasant realm of bad thoughts. The morning is when I usually feel most talkative, and that’s in large part to the coffee. I guess I really have a lot of explaining to do about my perceived self… next entry perhaps?

I am feeling the vibe to write more lately. I have ideas in my head. Things I have not been able to shake, or cease thinking about. I will, however, take my sweet time in expressing them. I feel almost inclined to post something 3500 words or more. Just a thought.
So, I’ll check back in here later with some shit.

Inaugural Sequel!

So, here we are again. I’m re-igniting an old dead flame, and kindling the fire of complaining and bemoaning anew. Why? Because I find my random thoughts, extrapolations and theories about the distant “if,” often have no final resting place, but to be cast aside in a forgotten alleyway somewhere in the streets of my mentally ill brain.  I am a good user of language, I guess. I’m not making self-assuring proclamations, but observing what others have often conveyed to me. I have no idea when it comes to self-evaluation. Don’t ask me, I’m the last motherfucker who knows what’s going on up in this head.

I try and make light of things… I don’t particularly understand throwing a fit every time something poopy happens. It’s a bad way to do things. I’m trying my best to do the right thing every day, but it’s no fucking joke… I deal with unhappy things. Horrible thoughts. Unimaginable nightmares. I want to write a lot of things down in here. I want to tell this bloggy place all about my strange nightmares, my symptoms, my abilities and views on life. I have strong and unconventional opinions, and I will probably never share them with anyone. Not like to open myself to THAT arena, because I find I don’t like most other people. And their thoughts are less fun.

I’m going to write, and do my best to detail to you the life of a strange fellow. An intellectual trapped in a cage slowly sinking into a cold river. I’m brilliant, in brief, inconsequential moments, and on fronts that accomplish nothing of societal relevance. I labor on, despite hardship, despite pain, to live to see another day.