Please help me understand this.

It’s almost 2016. We know so much about science and our bodies, and we are making new discoveries everyday.

There’s reality, virtual reality, the ability to transplant organs and so many other medical miracles. 

Basically, each part of our body is interchangeable. Like a Lego set or a paper doll. 

Why then is the color we are wearing, our skin, still an issue?


Some nights…


I lie awake dreaming of you. 

My breathing gets heavier as my mind floats away. 

You reached deep inside my soul, making me completely dependant on you.

In my dreams I wake into you.

While I’m awake, I’m lost in dreams of you.

Who are you that draws me and holds me?

Which part of my being creates you? 

Is it head, or heart, or hormones?

I will see you soon.

It could be tonight,

Or in the daydream of tomorrow.


I have a dream

I have a dream.

Where people in wheelchairs are seen for what they are, people, who ride on robots.

I have a dream.

Where it is as easy for a disabled person to make a paycheck as it is for an able-bodied person.

I have a dream.

In which companies see the many benefits of advertising on wheelchairs.


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RIP all the bs I’ve written out of some screwed up idealistic and totally inaccurate view of myself and what I’m supposed to be. I was looking over some of my old posts, trying to find the time frame of certain things from 2012 that I should probably not talk much about, and I couldn’t help but notice that for a while I changed, said stuff I didn’t mean, and hurt people who actually were not trying to screw me over. Never again.

I hereby vow to never write something out of some misguided sense of loyalty, or trying to appease someone, or some other screwed up reason. I will never again put myself in a position where my entire world hinges on someone’s idea of who I am, or who I should be. The posts I wrote then, and the fact that I hurt people who were truly my friends, online or not, sickens me and it will not happen again. Ruining the friendships I had built here was an absolute mistake, but I was too weak and insecure to see that. That version of me has died. No one will ever coerce me into writing things that I don’t feel true again, and I’m so sorry I ever allowed it to happen.

Fine! I’ll write something!

downloadHi. sorry I’ve been away from blogland. You will be happy to know that I haven’t been kidnapped. I have however been busy, and mentally distracted with the whirlwind of real life.  Sorry. Anyway, hi. I’ll start writing a story, just for those of you who might stumble down what ever dark and twisted path led you to my blog.

I stay with the body as it cools. Some faces simply look better dead. There is a peacefulness that encompasses the body. Shortly before rigor sets in, I can manipulate the features of the face as if they were made from clay. My victims are the retards. Literally. Retards, or people with mental instabilities are burdens on society, and on their families. No body wants to live life that way anyway. I put them out of their misery.

I feel the winds of reality pulling me away from you, so until next time…

What if…

What if the beliefs you’ve been taught we’re simply beliefs you’ve been taught?

What if you did what you wish the world do?

What if today was the day you became you?

What if you stopped being your past or your future, and you started to be?

What if you were not your thoughts, or your mood, or your parents?

What if you were the person you were made to be?


Funny: A bedtime story

He had never been popular. Tod was a normal looking kid who got average grades in his typical middle school. 

He wasn’t very athletic, nor one of those “bad boy” types who seemed to always be sneaking around with a cigarette or a girl.

The fact that girls seemed to go for guys like that, was almost enough to bring him back to the “girls are stupid” phase, except for her. Julie.

She had everything a 14 year old boy could long for and more. The only problem was that Julie was popular, aka blind to the rest of humanity, especially nobodies like him.

So Tod daydreamed about doing something amazing.

When the news segment was about a school shooting in Florida, he fantasized about being the kid who took the gunman down and saved the class.

If the weatherman mentioned the possibility of strong storms, he fantasized about leading Julie’s class out of a damaged school.

Even his dreams were about giving Julie the Heimleich maneuver or saving her from a distracted driver at the crosswalk.

He’d be the hero somehow. It felt like his destiny.

One year. 

In one year he’d gone from being unpopular to the most popular kid in school, and now, here he was reading a note from Julie, and she’s calling him her hero.

One year of tests, diagnoses, medications and hospitals was all it took to be a hero. Well, that and his life. 

He’d never imagined dying in a hospital bed before he turned 16, but he could feel it coming. Funny, he thought to himself.

This is seriously the grossest thing ever.

  Stop reading this. You will regret going on. Just walk away.

You just couldn’t help yourself? Fine, but don’t whine and cry and call me nasty or anything like that. I warned you.

I’m a woman. As a woman I have a monthly subscription to Satan’s river. Through the miracle of modern science and engineering, we women have a selective array of products to facilitate or rather hide the rivers’ flow when it comes.

Okay, last chance guys. Believe me, you don’t want to read more.

One of these ingenious products is a plug, otherwise known as a tampon.

Now, I’ve been off my period for a week or so, but several days ago I became disturbed by a rather offensive odor which seemed to be coming from my lady parts. I did what I could, frequent showers, etc, but the odor persisted and seemed to be getting worse.

I assumed I was dying of some horrible and humiliating disease or something, and began preparing my last will and testament, when I thought “maybe it’s a yeast infection”, so I put some ointment on my finger and it began its trek into the depths of my…well, me.

Suddenly I felt something that didn’t feel like me, and I realized “ahhhhh!!! it’s a tampon! Gross! Gross! Gross! Etc.” for about 10 minutes as I fished the disgusting thing out. It was horrible. Traumatizing. Nasty. 

So I looked it up and apparently it happens a lot. Women see their doctor and stuff to have it taken out, so I didn’t feel like as much of a sicko. So that’s it. Told you it was gross. 

I’m smelling better now, and it can actually be dangerous to leave a tampon in, so I guess I’m fortunate in that regard that it wasn’t life threatening.

In the future, I’m going to have to make tally marks for tampon insertion and retrieval or something, because this was one experience I don’t want a repeat of. 


There simply is a time and place

To show the sides of your writer’s face.

I tend to post it all too quick

From beautiful to really sick

But sometimes I need a gentle remind 

That some of it should be held behind

The doors that only a few people see

Some might be better only for me.

That doesn’t mean I’m being fake

There’s only so much the world can take.

So I will try to keep a lid

On the writings that are better hid

Behind the public social wall

The view available to all.

Self-censorship is something I can do

Whether the piece is fake or true. 

I’ll have a secret writing mind

And leave the controversy behind.