October 24, 2009

I want to write. I want to pour myself out onto the pavement. Preferably a carpet. That way it’ll be harder to remove my stained self from your sight. I want to stick around like an unsightly stench that stays in, and flares your nostrils. I want to linger in your brain for however long it takes to stimulate and get it bubbling. I want to lay my demon eggs deep inside your brain…

It hasn’t gone away. It won’t ever. This is something that stays with me forever. Until it’s accomplished, or until the next one is ready to be waged. You can kill me, bury me alive, rip me into a thousand pieces and spread them out across the world, but I will still come back. Maybe not in this lifetime. But I’ll be back. We all will. That’s why it’s worth killing and dying for this.

I’m a

Broken

Record

It does not stop

Ever

Ever

Ever

Ever

On a lighter note, I feel stuck. I need to get the fuck out of my house, my mind, my environment. I’m a Sagittarius for fucks sake. Traveling, archery, and philosophy. That’s all I’m meant for.

Hahah...

I need a change of pace.

Scorned by society.

Plagued by tradition.

There’s only so many places one can escape to…

“There‘s more to discover, when you get tired of living your life according to others”
July 21, 2009

There comes a point in your life when you start to take charge of it. The great thing about this point in time is that it’s voluntarily, it’s a choice. Everything up to that point was decided for you. Because you were either too young or incompetent to make the decision yourself. What the fuck am I talking about, you ask? Why, how much I dislike society’s influence, of course.

As a kid, your parents pretty much decide everything for you. Then you get older and start to delve into your own dreams and desires. And when you start to step outside certain boundaries in regard to doing what is best for you (which, by the way, is always, ALWAYS decided for you, regardless of whether you’re a child or an adult) you get scolded or punished because it’s not what THEY want for you. It’s not because it’s “good” or “bad”; it’s strictly because THEY just don’t want that for you (themselves).

When I was a kid, I don’t ever remember doing anything for me. Everything I did was to please my parents, especially my father. (It’s a girl thing). He was the LAST person I needed to impress, but because he was never grateful, I always felt like I was stuck in this endless praise seeking cycle. BUT THEN. Yes, but then! I reached that point in time when I didn’t need anyone’s approval to do what I wanted. Most of all, to FEEL what I wanted. Nobody could tell me what to feel, what to think. Why do you think I’m so anti-society, anti-government, anti-capitalism, anti-consumerism? Because as a result of these things’ existence, everybody wants to tell me who I should be, what I should be doing with my life, and how fucked I’ll be if I don’t abide by their so-called laws.

If you’re not going to school, then are you working? Is my life not productive if I’m doing something else? Of course it is. But not here. Not in this society. And not in the minds of those who have been brainwashed by it. Ever since I realized I didn’t fit the puzzle of life society’s built on, which was about seven years ago, I always wanted to make something of myself that extended past society. If I’m gonna do something, I’m gonna do it big and unconventional. By any means, I’ll get there, whether or not that includes work or school. Right now it doesn’t.

I want to live my life the way I want to live it NOW. Life is not set in stone; it’s a roaring, twisting river that can and will lead you everywhere and anywhere. Right now, though, the universal lifeline we all share is muddled and stagnant. People aren’t living; they’re just existing. They are no different than a stone, but who’s to say that stone isn’t having the time of its life? I feel that a revolution can once more let this majestic and mighty river flow. If we can overthrow that which oppresses every part of our being, physical, mental, and spiritual, then we can move forward as a people, and as individuals. The individuals that make up the masses must never be overlooked. But the masses can never let themselves be swayed to the point where they lose their individuality.

I shall and will always be blunt; a revolution is the only solution in my mind. It is Mother Earth’s all-purpose cleaner. Everything else was a temporary band-aid that has long since grown soggy and riddled with disease. 

This can only be said in the future. Til it attacks your minds and hearts, resist, my fellow humans.

“Life’s a bitch, but god forbid the bitch divorce me”
June 7, 2009

I’m starting to think that maybe I’m not here for the reasons I think. That’s one of the benefits of THIS. What the fuck is this? Whatever you want it to be. But there’s always room for doubt. Ten percent of our brain is supposedly only used; the rest is empty space that we must fill with knowledge and experience. If we don’t taste of every fruit, we shall never be fulfilled. I’M TRYING TO FIGURE OUT who the fuck I told about this, but check it: By acting in accord with dharma, or universal moral laws, Hindus believe that an individual can attain the ultimate goal of existence--the reunifying of the individual soul with atman, the universal soul. Hindus believe that most people cannot achieve this reunion with atman in a single lifetime, and therefore that most souls pass through a series of rebirths. In each reincarnation, or rebirth, an individual has the opportunity to move closer to the ultimate goal.

I feel like Avatar Aang. I feel like I am him, like I could be him if I just moved closer toward my universal self chilling in the cosmos. And I feel I can do that once I die. Death is the next step. I haven’t seen all existence has to offer, but THIS life is certainly done with. I won’t make it to Avatar Aang in this life. I failed at life five times remember? Give me two more shots at it and I’ll fucking DO IT. Not only will I become a fully realized fuck, but I can help these fellow humans out as well. FUCK ME. And fuck Avatar. Seriously.

I can’t think on a full stomach; my best thinking is done on an empty digestive tract. All I can think about now is sleep and that’s the last thing I want to do right now. I can sleep when I’m finally chilling in that bald headed kid’s glowing arrow. THAT’S WHEN I CAN REST MY SOUL. Good fuck, it’s restless. It wants to escape my body. It wants to be free. It wants to be thrown back into the recycled remains of its former selves. I feel like I’ve lost a part of my self and the only way to get it back is to dive in head first after it into the cosmos. And if it takes death to get there, SHIT FUCK MAN. I’m a little angsty right now. I can’t do this. Ghosts are climbing in through my window. I want to get up and dance in the pale moonlight. THAT’S WHAT THIS IS.

The full moon is in Sagittarius, the only time it shall be this whole year. I really feel like Sagittarius is getting fucked over by the universe at this point in time and space. Seriously. WE EEZ RELAPSING. It’s not a relapse at all; it’s just the emergence of the real self. I’m done; I want to do something else…

I wasn't thinking at all. I didn't have to; my reaction came from the gut, from the heart. it was instinct. you don't second guess that kind of shit; YOU JUST DO. I wasn't thinking about what coulda happened. all I knew was that I had to defend our honor. fuck that honor. it was about respect. and if i had to jump in and whoop ass, I WOULD'VE. i'm a lil skinny nigguh battling nigguhs like three times my size! not even, but when it comes to shit like this, i would gladly sacrifice a limb.

i felt stupid afterward, for getting everyone involved in useless drama. but was it really useless? i wasn't about to let some stupid drunk fuck disrespect my family. that's why i did what i did today. because i'm tired of taking people's shit. friends, strangers, whoever the fuck you are. i'm DONE.

HAY WORLD. i'm not a doormat.

so
uh..
fuck off

“But you‘re looking in the mirror and you‘re seeing yourselves better than me, better than you, and everybody else”
May 18, 2009

I wish I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Fuck that light; it’s in my sights, bright as day. I wish I could see through the darkness and anticipate my next move. Rather, the universe’s next move. I’m sick and fucking tired of moving blindly through this goddamn tunnel. I want a flashlight. I want a candle. I want a glow stick. Something. ANYTHING. I’m tired of not being able to foresee events. Obviously, I can’t foresee them, but I’d at least like to avoid them. I’m traveling through a train tunnel, man. Every ten minutes a fucking train comes and knocks me off course. I mistake that train for the light at the end so it’s no wonder I can’t get the fuck out of the way.

I really feel like it’s going to be smooth sailing from now on. At least when it comes to bullshit friend drama. USED TO BE MY DOG, YOU WAS IN MY LEFT TITTIE. Yes, Jada, yes! It’s one of those things that happens. It happened full blown last summer. It happened during the winter. And it’s happening now. There’s one left and being the uber awesome Aquarius she is, I don’t think she’d ditch me. SHE PROBABLY WILL. But until that day comes, I’ma love her to the def.

There’s no use in going back in time to explain all this bullshit. It’s just fucking MEANT, man. Fucking mental.  You win some, you lose some. There’s nothing I can do about it now. I wish I could. That’s why I said I wish I had a fucking flashlight to avoid these mishaps. I’m wondering if it’s my fault. If I’m such a horrible friend and person. AM I? Don’t lie to me, baby. I can take it. Actually, no, I can’t. But I want to know anyway. AM I A HORRIBLE FRIEND?

“You’re a high horse riding, oh so judgmental”

“Bad luck and a gift; where I’ma go with this?”
Friday, May 1, 2009

This isn’t effective. Not as effective as I’d like it to be. It’s because I haven’t gone to school and received a degree in the art of writing. But I, and countless, COUNTLESS rappers, know that isn’t true. It never will be. When it comes to shit that comes from the heart, it can’t be taught. You can teach a man how to fish, but you can’t teach that man to sympathize with that dying species and give up fishing all together. Passion is a curse. It won’t ever allow you to quit and give up. Even when you’re at your wits end, and everyone is against you, it still manages to push its way to the forefront and allow you to survive an ordeal. Not only that, it allows you to OVERCOME. My passion does that for me. That’s why anger replaces sadness whenever tears come to my eyes. That, and being a Sagittarius is a big fucking bonus. Fuck that label. Being ME is an advantage to the average stereotypical girl. I’ve been there, and I’ve done that. I know what this feels like, because I’ve gone through it, in the same exact way. This time around though, I have so many more memories to base my pain off of. But…sadness isn’t the dominant emotion here. It’s anger; it’s always been. Didn’t you know? I’m an angry person. That’s why Revolution is my homie. That’s why I talk about murder and death all the time. It’s a rational anger though. When I kill him, it won’t be out of blind fury. It will be out of love <33

This shouldn’t surprise you.

This past year has been pretty fucking shitty. I’m actually overlooking the good things that happened and I’m certain they outweigh the bad ones. A LOT of fucked up shit has happened to me this past year. Wow. It hasn’t hit me yet. It didn’t hit me during the summer when it was full on. It’s like I became numb to all that bullshit. All that’s left is anger. All that fucked up shit that happened only made me an angrier person. I need violence to redirect it. That’s why I constantly have to punch something (or someone) to calm myself. If I let this anger consume me, there’s no stopping me once I pass my breaking point. I’ll get to the bitter end and back. Bust clips until they’re empty, one after the other. This doesn’t work anymore.

I can’t express anything on here anymore. You have to look at me, you have to listen to me. I’m over my awkwardness. I want to be seen and heard. It’s the only way you’ll feel me. My words may not be as eloquent as they are here, but my actions will make up for it.

I love Lloyd Banks, my heart is broke, but I’m not suffering hardcore like before. I want to rally the masses. I want to kiss him one last time, for old time’s sake. And then,   

Murmuring how [he] loved me--[he]
Too weak, for all [his] heart's endeavor,
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever, And give [himself] to me forever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could tonight's gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of [him], and all in vain:
So, [he] was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I looked up at [his] eyes
Happy and proud; at last I knew [he] worshiped me: surprise
Made my heart swell, and still it grew
While I debated what to do.
That moment [he] was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all [his] hair
In one long yellow string I wound
Three times [his] little throat around,
And strangled [him].
No pain felt [he]; I am quite sure [he] felt no pain.

Except I want you to feel pain…

“That’s what I want you to feel, only way more.”

That’s all I’ll say about this. I’ve said it in better words two, three years ago.

“I keep something bad; I’m supposed to”
April 29, 2009

It’s amazing how fast a Sagittarius’ mood and mentality can change in seconds flat. We go from 0 to 60 in 0.09 seconds.
That’s why I’m so undecided
Rap has a lot to do with my moods. Swagger’s contagious. Nay, confidence is.
I noticed, lately, that when I do something nice for someone, I get the biggest fucking slaps from Karma, or whoever the fuck’s in charge of these things. Avatar Aang chilling in the universe! Is that you??
I know why Banks makes minute long songs. Hahah!
April OH SHIT. This Thursday!! PLK!
I do something nice for someone, then something bad happens to me. Seriously. It’s fucked up. I’m starting to think it’s a sign that I’m not meant to be a good person in this life…
Think about it!
A revolutionary can never be a good person. The things that lead to revolution and the process of revolution goes against a person’s nature. Its cause doesn’t; at our base level we are creatures of constant change.
I WISH I HAD MY FUCKING PHONE. I’d bitch someone’s ear hole the fuck out.
Thank you, National Geographic Channel! Alpha males and/or females are always taken the fuck out by the younger, stronger generation.
SOUND FAMILIAR? Oh yeah, I see how that’s applied to our society, but old nigguhs stay in charge, and they really need to be mauled at the throat.
I let myself get distracted these last few months.
It happens. IT FUCKING HAPPENS. I should know better by now; he never means what he says, at least when it comes to his feelings for me.
You know YOU FUCKING KNOW WHY WE LOVE RAP? Aside from the fact that we’re fucking hard, it just appeals so much more. Every fucking genre is about who the fuck love and heartbreak and wah wah bitch fit.
Rap though, my dudes, RAP. Formally known as heep hawp, is about US. Lower class fucks. What do we grow up thinking? GET YA MONEY, FUCK WHAT EHHHBODY SAY. It’s about being US. It’s about cash over bitches. It’s about loyalty to your homies. And, papa told me never sweat her, let the porno movies get her. OR HIM. Fucking faggot.
I want to beat the shit out of someone.
IT’S ABOUT POLITICS AND REVOLUTION. I just remembered that. Hood politics is the best fucking shit you can lace down on a track. Get em where it hurts, get em where it thinks, and you got yourself a legitimate amount of rebel rousers.
Which we’re not. Won’t you ever see this, existing government? We just want CHANGE. Is there something so wrong with that?
You’re one to talk, Trisha.
Banks agrees.
Someone ship me off to Mexico. Or Russia. 
Sometimes we have to go back to basics when knocked off course. Retrace our steps, repress a few memories.
Fall down seven times, get up eight.
I wanted to say it was six times, but I guess I have to fail one more time before I finally get it right. No worries.
I like these lists; it makes things that much more subtle.
I can’t fight my nature. You have no clue how much anger and violence barely boils beneath my bones. But I was disciplined, and learned how to suppress it. I was never taught how to control it. That’s why you see the fucked up girl you see today.
Seriously, the more I think about it, I more I think I am truly meant to be Violent J’s son, popped off the condom.
How much more time did I need to waste on him? Enough’s enough. Obama’s in the Oval Office; he promised change. I’ll bring it; unfortunately it involves dethroning him.
Lloyd Banks, this fucking rap, makes me feel SO much better. It numbs the hurt. I think about him, and my heart flitters, too caught up in the passion and love of this glorious heep hawp.
I think losing my phone was the biggest fucking sign that I need to move on. Thank you, Cosmos. Thank you, Avatar Aang chilling in the universe. It has to be him! Who else would it be?
I want to wash my hair. RIGHT NOW.
Thank you, stupid shitty asshole that took my phone. Thanks. Read, and laugh. Because it’s fucking ridiculous.
Here’s an opportunity for change. Let’s see how I go about handling it.
Back to square one, barely crossing the bridge to square two. Hahah! Seriously, 2009 will be a great year. It already has been. Now that he’s out of the picture, it brings a sigh of relief. I don’t have to trip about the future anymore.
Of course, it HURTS. Duh. Obviously. I’m not half Vulcan, half human.
I wish I could ask God, doe style, if we’re truly meant to be together. But that’s not possible. I’m thinking about how I can achieve that. Meditation? Intoxication? Near death suffocation? Quite frustrating. But it would be the shit if I had some signs. Maybe they’ve been there all along…
If it’s not presented to me as a lie, I can’t tell the difference between it and the truth.
We’re done.

"Life’s a bitch, an unfaithful whore”

“I let the shit slide for too many years, too many times. Now I’m strapped with a couple of macs, too many nines. If y’all nigguhs really with me, get busy, load up the semis. Do more than just hold it. Explode the clip until you empty”
Sunday, April 12, 2009
    
You’d think that after four years and nine months, I’d run out of things to say, words to string together, sentences to compose, paragraphs to organize, letters to compile. It’s not like everything I’ve said wasn’t said before. It was just said differently. Same vocabulary, with the exception of the addition of revolution. Other than that, these letters have the same general message. Four years, going on five when the summer hits us dead on. And what have we come to? Nothing.

I’ve been listening to Nas, hardcore, lately. I’ve always listened to him hardcore, ever since he entered my life the latter of 2006. I’m just uber fucking mind blown at what he’s done lyrically, hood politically, what he’s done for me, as a poet, as a minority, as a fellow writer, as a person. I forgot what the fuck I said, but my brother was teasing me, saying that I loved Nas and wanted to marry him. AND I DO. Fuck that milkshake bitch. Nasir and I can take over this piece, lyrically, verbally, word smittenly. He’s been in the rap game well over a decade, and he never runs out of rhymes or bars. IF ONLY ICP WOULD FOLLOW SUIT. If only everyone else would follow suit and step up and never run out of fresh shit and always have something to say, even if it’s the same message said differently. So you can see now why that first paragraph was written. It all makes sense, people. Maybe only in my head. BUT I WANT YOU TO SEE THESE THINGS. I want you to notice them and UNDERSTAND. That writing can be nothing more than a metaphor. I can never ever NEVER EVER express a thought in my head the way I see it, so I do it as closely as possible through the power of metaphor so that YOU can get it.

If only these bars of mine could rhyme.

There’s a lot of energy going on in my mind and body. I have no way of releasing it. Thus, frustration. Writing doesn’t do anything for me. It’s just a means of getting out words, but words aren’t energy unless they’re spoken. And if I were to ever try and make them verbal, I’d throw up and shit at the same time. I wish I wasn’t so suppressed when I was a child. It’s no wonder I am who I am. Inside my mind, I could be as free as I wanted to. I could explore other worlds and possibilities. There was no restraint to that, HOW COULD THEY GET IN MY HEAD AND TELL ME NOT TO THINK WHAT I WAS THINKING? They couldn’t. Parents. Teachers. Society. They couldn’t tell me what to think about. That’s why I’m not an ignorant fuck. Because my mind was exploring doe style. BUT MY PHYSICAL SELF IS SO RIGID AND STIFF AND VOID OF FREEDOM. I hate this conditioned physical self. THAT’S WHAT THESE FUCKS GOT TO. They got to my body. But they’ll never get through to my head. I RUN THIS BITCH, in my head. I am my own mind’s master. But my mind and body and MOUTH want to become one and spray verbal bullets at the world. I really need to…break my physical self out of these chains. If I don’t, my mind’s just as enslaved by ignorance as everyone else’s.

“I wondered, could they tell? How did they know? Sixteen years later, here I go”

“I shall prevail, never fall or fail. Even if my body is trapped behind bars”
Saturday, March 28- Sunday March 29, 2009

As you may have, and should’ve, noticed, I have a huge problem with authority figures of any kind. The government, police, parents, teachers (unless you’re a certain brilliant and charismatic U.S. history teacher), the fucking works. ANYONE who thinks they hold some power over me just because they can hide behind laws, rules, or guns. You can go ahead and tell me what to do and how I should do it. As much as I hate people (especially authority figures) telling me how to live my life, I can’t deny you the right to speak your mind. I won’t listen either way. And it’s not because you’re an authority figure (actually, it is) and I must defy and resist anyone in a position of false power; it’s because you expect and want me to follow blindly. Well listen here, you fuck. I’m not a sheep. I never was, and I never will be. Even when I tried to follow the herd back when I was about ten years old, even when I tried so hard to fit in with the other kids and do what they did and listen to the garbage they listened to, I COULDN’T. I just fucking couldn’t. The Real Trisha couldn’t be repressed by bullshit ass peer pressure. BUT SEE HERE. Listen here. Just because I wasn’t easily swayed by my peers, didn’t mean adults couldn’t get to me. AND THEY DID. So you can see why I hate them so much. That, and they’re just plain ignorant and conditioned. I WAS CONDITIONED. They fucking rang that bell and put a collar around my neck and punished me whenever I tried to be me, whenever I tried to express my thoughts and feelings. Whenever the Real Trisha tried to express herself, RING A DING DING. That fucking bell went off and it shut off my brain; I became mentally incompetent, brainwashed, salivating at the mouth like Pavlov’s dogs. The receivers to my mind opened and commands were drilled into it. Don’t do that, don’t do this. That’s wrong, you’re wrong, you’re not supposed to do that. Don’t say that. Never do that again. I DON’T LIKE WHAT YOU’RE DOING. That’s the worst one of them all.

Childhood is a long list of prohibitions. And when you try to question them, it’s always the same BECAUSE I SAID SO. Bitch, who the fuck is you? And then as you get older, it becomes BECAUSE IT’S ILLEGAL. Again, who the fuck is you, bitch? No one. Except a bitch ass human who thinks they’re better than me. Because you’re older, because you have more experience, because you have a degree, because you have more money, because you have a gun, because your rich, white daddy says you is better than me. Can you imagine, being a kid, and first learning about discrimination and prejudice? IMAGINE HOW THAT KID FEELS, HOW YOU MIGHT’VE FELT, HOW I FELT. To look in the mirror and see your beautiful self, but think horrid thoughts like: They don’t like me because I’m black, because I’m brown, because I’m yellow, because I’m red. That’s fucked up. FUCKED UP. A kid, wait…NO ONE should ever have to go through that. We are all beautiful in our own ways. DON’T EVER APOLOGIZE TO NO ONE FOR THE WAY YOU LOOK. We’re all different, that’s what makes us so fresh. But. Yes, that horrible single cheek behind makes others believe that being different isn’t acceptable. I remember in fourth grade. Fourth mu fucking grade. I had a crush on the only black kid in our class. Probably in the whole school. But I never told anyone because I was scared of what the other kids would say. HOW STUPID IS THAT. I should’ve told those kids and their words to fuck off. But at that age, everyone just wants to fit in. Nobody wants to be “uncool”. BUT WHY IS THAT? We’ll get into that just now. I snapped out of that bullshit mentality the following year when the Carnival found me and learned me the biggest lessons even the glorious Avatar couldn’t teach me. Actually, Aang did teach them, but I had already learned them.

I’m writing this because…I think I finally understand why people are the way they are. Nay, I understand why they come to be how they are. Conditioning. Just like I was (am) conditioned to repress my real self, humanity has come to be the same way. GET EM YOUNG, and they’re yours forever. See, a child’s mind is like a sponge. It absorbs, good and bad, for lack of better words. Childhood is also a conditioning process. Teaching the child what is “good”, what is “bad”, what is “acceptable”, what isn’t. And when that child doesn’t fall in line, they are punished. That punishment leads to some psychological term I can’t recall at the moment. Point is, you learn that if you do this, something bad happens to you (punishment), and you certainly don’t want that to happen again. Thus, the concept of conditioning is born. Fucking Pavlov and his stupid bell.     

This falls in with Tradition. How I hate you so. Tradition is just three letters away from condition. Ain’t no secret to why. Tradition is conditioning that has survived the test of time. No matter how ridiculous and outdated some traditions may be, they still live to this day because we, as children, as a people, as humanity, are conditioned to carry them on. WE, RIGHT NOW, AS WE SPEAK AND LIVE AND BREATHE (AND WRITE) are being taught certain things that can and will be stupid a few decades from now. And we are also living certain ideas and thoughts that are FUCKING STUPID today, but made sense back then. A people must evolve, humanity must evolve. Is it gonna take millions and millions of years to change our thought systems? Probably. PROBABLY. I mean, look how long it took to change our physical selves.

THIS IS DIFFERENT THOUGH. We all have the capacity and willpower to change our minds. If we can change our minds, if we can change the way we think, there would be no need for bloody revolution. We can have a mental revolution. A revolution that involves our minds and brains. It doesn’t have to be me holding a gun to the government’s head and screaming on about equality and retribution. But because people are conditioned to think a certain way, to behave a certain way, to discriminate and think that black people are “niggers”, whatever the fuck that WORD MEANS, or that Mexicans are lazy, or that all Muslims are terrorists, Revolution is the only way to open your eyes to this. It’s all about what goes on in your head, people. COLOR NEVER MATTERS UNDER THE COVERS WHEN THE LIGHTS ARE OFF. We’re all humans. At our base, core level, we are all human. But these thoughts, these fucking thoughts, are the cause of our downfall. Just cause I THINK you’re different, I’ma treat you badly. Please, fuck off. Or rather, enlighten yourself and stop making the world the horrible place it is.

I love children, I love young people, though at times I can’t stand their ignorant ways. It’s okay; there’s still potential. You know that old saying, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? (What is it with me and dog references tonight?) That’s why I hate adults. Because they are so set in their old, fucked up ways. That’s why my father will never change. That’s why, as long as I live in this house, we will always be caught in this vicious cycle of: I do something he doesn’t agree with, he doesn’t say anything til he goes out, gets drunk, comes home to bitch me out about it, and I get upset and cry about it like a feeble bitch, and then the next day he’s all happy dandy, and it goes on again the following week. He will never accept that this is ME. That I won’t ever be submissive. That I won’t ever be like every other typical bitch ass Mexican girl out there. He can’t accept that. IF HE FIXED HIS THINKING, if he THOUGHT about how fresh of a daughter I am without having to be like everyone else, we’d get along just fine. Expectations, too, fuck us up. NIGGUH. First off, fuck your expectations; I surpass them. I’m on a level they will never reach. And two, WHY? What good does it do anyone?

We, as children, as young people, have the greatest power old people can never have. Well, they can, but it’s more prevalent in the younger masses. We have the power to change. If no fucked up adult got to us, or if we resisted their brainwashing, we see, WE KNOW that the way they run things is fucked up. We haven’t been blinded, we haven’t been jaded, we haven’t been conditioned by everyone else. I’m looking at life through my eyes, not by someone’s words. And what I see is fucked up. And I want to change it. Because I’m not content with what is. YOU ARE. Because you’re old and hopeless. Because you think it’s not possible or worth it. BUT YOU KNOW WHAT? In my young brain, it is. And even when I get old, I will STILL want revolution. If things start to revert, or if we must evolve yet again, best fucking believe I’ll rally myself to the forefront to bring yet another revolution again. I mustn’t get ahead of myself though. First, we must start this revolution. A revolution to end all revolutions. Because this one isn’t about politics, it’s not about money, it’s not about unions, it’s not about business, it’s not about legal rights. IT’S ABOUT HUMANITY. It’s about our feelings, our thoughts, our ideas, our dreams, and actualizing them, unrestricted by legal, moral, societal restrictions. I don’t give a fuck about your government, or your laws, YOUR BITCH ASS LAWS WRITTEN ON A PIECE OF PAPER. I realize that my own words are on cyber paper, but I’m going to be doing more than just writing. I don’t give a fuck about words that were written two hundred years ago or two thousand years ago. Thoughts and ideas change. Wouldn’t it make sense to adjust mentalities and mindsets accordingly? If I lose weight, why the fuck would I go on wearing the same pair of pants that don’t fit me? I need to go out and get new ones. It doesn’t make sense to go on thinking like people did two hundred years ago. THINK ABOUT IT, MAN. The people that founded this country owned slaves; they didn’t give a fuck about em so long as they made their (metaphorical) green piece of paper (because currency as we know it didn’t exist two hundred years ago) and owned a piece of grass. The people that founded society purposely excluded certain people like women, children, and people that looked or thought differently. Fuck that, fuck you, fuck those people who decided it was okay to be racist or close minded. Don’t be a sheep. Break free! Realize this, adults, in my past and present who conditioned me: When that bell rings, I ain’t gonna drool anymore.

“No matter how hard you try, you can‘t stop me now”

“Better believe most of us want to leave. Furthest we went was out of our minds, but we still here”
Thursday, March 26, 2009

I can blame this on my period, on distraught feelings that have no foundation except chemicals boiling and bubbling over in my brain. But then, isn’t that all I feel and think? Chemical reactions? I can blame this on Nietzsche or Waiting for Godot. I can blame it on this forsaken weather. As always is the case, no matter how I try to skew it, it’s my fault.

I really thought and felt like I went insane during the summer. The world’s shit had hit the fan and I had no umbrella to shield myself from unwanted fecal matter others decided to dump on me. So I spent my whole summer and fall bathing to rid myself of the filth. On a late November night in the wee hours of the morning, I thought I had finally cleansed myself from all the bullshit that was the latter of 08. I didn’t. Nay. Rather, fuckers decided to come and take yet another dump on me. I can sit here and bitch about how much they blow at life for doing this to me but there’s one crucial point I’m leaving out. I COULD’VE MOVED THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY. I could’ve been like: Look here, you fucks! I’m not a toilet. Fuck off. But I didn’t. Because I’m passive aggressive. Because I take shit like a toilet.

I have this funny feeling in my belly that can, again, be attributed to my period. I go through these cleansings, for lack of a better word, where I just rid myself of everything that’s taking up precious space in my socially limited brain. Society prevents my brain from expanding, from using its full potential, because if I were to ever unleash that power, nigguhs wouldn’t know what to do with me; I’d be unstoppable. So I’m restricted to a small percentage of my brain in a world where its whole potential is necessary to succeed. Note, not survive, but succeed. This small percentage, this ten percent we currently use is means of survival. Success, my friends, lies in that untapped part of our brains. Why not just give us ten percent and call it a human? Because THIS isn’t how we’re meant to live. I won’t get into that though; that’s a whole nother revolutionary rant.

I explained this at some point in time. My cleansings. They drive me to the brink of insanity, and then the neural receptors settle and get back on their grind. I WISH TO BREAK OUT OF THESE CYCLES. Whether good or bad, I don’t give a fuck. I’m tired of the highs and the lows. Fuck the highs, they happen once in a good while. I’m tired of these goddamn lows. Doubt, skepticism, and insecurity creep into my brain, whisper thoughts into my mind. They sink into my heart and break my spirit. Soon enough, I’m holding a gat to my head to silence these doubts and insecurities. How do I explain this without fancy metaphors and big words? That’s the thing about us writers. Why we write in the first place. You think it’s to express some sort of social ill or personal demon? To an extent, yes. But it can never be said bluntly. Your wits must be tested. Your brain must be put to work. I use double meanings and metaphor to achieve that. Most of the time, you walk away from this with a big ole question mark. So I’m spelling it out for you. For your sake, and mine. I’m at my wit’s end. I can’t function as efficiently as I’d like to. Besides, my Sagittarian Truth horse demands to run wild and trample those who refuse to use their brains to decipher word play.

I don’t like myself RIGHT NOW. I hate that I procrastinate horribly. I have this huge list of goals that stares me in the face every fucking day. I wake up to them, I fall asleep to them. They stare me blatantly in the face and scream at me: CHECK ME THE FUCK OFF, BITCH! I wish to do it John Locke style, cross off my to-do list, and start on a fresh page. BUT I DON’T. I’m still trying to figure out why I’m like this. Why I procrastinate horribly and waste my time writing this to you. It’s frustrating and fucking stupid, because they’re not relatively difficult tasks. FUCK THIS. AND FUCK YOU.

There’s a lot more fucking complaints than this, but this is best battled in silence, in my own goddamn head, with a few blows to the dome from my trusty right hand. Now if only I could stomp on it. I’D LEARN MY LESSON THEN. Fuck me.

“It’s nothing like the feeling when you do it from here. You ain’t have to move or pack. You ain’t have to shoot a gat. And you still took your mama and you moved her from here. And you ain’t dropped out and you figured the world out”