“Fuck You” Songs

Today I found a jackpot.  No, not the lottery, not yet at least.  I know many of you know these songs are out there.  So why didn’t you tell ME?  I had to find them on my own!!

As if this list wasn’t enough, it wasn’t complete or exhaustive, and I have to say that because several of the songs weren’t a match to my specific angers tonight.  Call it a mood swing, call it temporary, call it whatever you want, I don’t give a shit.  But wait, there’s more:

Well, to be completely honest, I knew SOME of them were out there, I just didn’t know they were all so neatly cataloged in play lists so I could listen back to back and vent the frustration and rage and everything petty about myself over an extended period of time.  And I didn’t know there were this many awesome “fuck you” songs.

When I got done “crying like a bitch,” over “One of My Turns,” I reached the point of “fuck you.”  I confess, it wasn’t when my wife ignored my polite and pleasant request to please read the email I sent (with the link to the prior blog entry).  That just made me mad.  What tipped the scale to real angry was when my 18 year old “adult” daughter was upset about something she wanted to buy but didn’t know what she really NEEDED, I made a suggestion of someone she should ask for help, and in her stress, she yelled at me. “SHUT UP, DAD!!”  So I shut up.  Didn’t talk before they went to bed,  because it’s better to shut the hell up and not say something I’d regret later.  The Bible says it’s a bad idea to let the sun set while one is raging.

Instead I poured a triple-shot and drank it a little faster than I think I should have, over a piece of leftover cold chicken.  And listened to great music.  I did hear an apology for the fucking “shut up” comment, but it still  kind of pisses me off.  And I was still mad about Mrs. M. not reading my fucking blog that explained my feelings and why I’ve been acting all stand-off-ish for a while, not to mention the event that precipitated me having those feelings, not to mention the events that happened before Mrs. M. was Mrs. M., when she proved she loved some other guy in ways she doesn’t want to prove herself to me.

I have a problem with trust.  I trust people too easily.  I take people’s word for their bond, which proves to be my insanity, because I expect, when I’m promised raises, and a career path, and help finding a well-fitting job in my field of training, and the bullshit that has gone on and on in my life, until with this last job, the last one to be infested with liars and cheaters, I realized it, and now want everything in writing so no one will fucking hire me, so I can’t quit the shitty one to even try to find a better one.  Well, to go back to the present rage and my stupid habit of trusting, she said she loved me, so I believed her.  Well, shit happens, I shouldn’t have expected anything else.  She hasn’t read the email I sent to explain it, but I shouldn’t have expected that either, from my wife who doesn’t read.  How the fuck does a writer hook up with a woman who doesn’t fucking READ?

But wait, there’s more, just not on a playlist yet:
Through with You, Maroon 5
Misery, Maroon 5
Wake Up Call, Maroon 5
Maps, Maroon 5
This Love, Maroon 5
Makes Me Wonder, Maroon 5
Payphone, Maroon 5

I think there are several more creepy sounding songs by the group.  There’s one in particular I can’t remember right now.  I wish I could, it was brilliant and very dark.

I think Adam Levine’s voice is great, and his music is soothing, and his lyrics are creepy as fuck.  If I were writing a collection of “Fuck You” songs I would want someone like him to sing them.  He sings stuff about how much he hates the person he’s singing about and wants to do them bodily harm, or murder them, and it sounds loving and sweet.  He’s one of few singers who could sing them like “I’m singing a love song to you, baby,” set to a light, fun-sounding tune, and the lyrics would be …

I— just want to say— I love you today–
But I— know that it’s true— you’ve got work to do–
To earn my trust, to win my love, to hold my heart, baby.
I want to say that I love you, but I doubt the reverse is true

You— inspire me— Your beauty’s all I can see
But you— always act dissatisfied—I know that you’ve lied
And all that I want is to be loved like I loved you, see?
I found out you’ve loved me less than you used to love somebody else.

I—always wanted you to be—the happiest that you could be
But I— can’t compete with the past—If you love me prove it fast
I’m done with working my ass off trying, just to end up crying
You don’t give a shit what I do, it’s never quite enough for you.

You–you think I’m being a bitch—and how come we aren’t very rich?
You–act like you don’t have a clue–pretend you don’t know what to do
I’m sick just thinking of how long I’ve been wasting my time, baby
Doing anything you wanted, insane, when you won’t do the same.

We—can’t dream we will be— forever after happy
We—don’t talk much any more— not to mention you snore
And pushed me away so often, I wonder if you ever loved me.

I– I don’t even want to know why.   Sometimes I wish one of us would die.
Who—who even cares any more? I’m hurt so much more than sore.
30 years wouldn’t even the score, fix my heart, if you could be bothered to start.
I need someone who loves me a whole lot more than you do.

Fuck!!!!!!!!!

DM (Dead Man) 8/9/18

From Hyper-critical to I-Don’t-Give-A-Shit in 3 seconds

I don’t know if that’s the accelerator or the brake.  But I know that the right words, or preferably,  silence with the right actions, can motivate me to work my ass off.  And I know that the wrong words, because nobody ever just shuts the hell up, can put me into escape mode.  I’m already gone.  I’m already done helping with whatever concerned you.  The silent, unseen “fuck you” has already left my soul.  It doesn’t need to be said, in language, sign, sigh, or any other physical reaction.  I’d like to think it’s a private, psychic rocket ship, one that, most of the time, is far more efficient than any known technology.

Because of this, I think it’s an accelerator.  Sometimes I wish it weren’t psychic, I wish it were real.  It’s a rage rocket.  Instead of flames, it would release sonic energy.  “Impulse” power just goes, “Buhbye! Bye now!  Bub-bye! Buhbye!”   It ramps up through other rage-induced profane and/or snarky expressions, and if you really piss me off, full throttle goes “FUCK YOU!  FUCK YOU! FUCKYOU!!  FUCKYOU!!!FUCKYOU!!!FUCKYOU!!!FUCKYOU!!!

Say it.  Push my buttons.  And see what happens.  Except you presume you’ve done or said nothing wrong, and it’s me being batshit that causes me to be angry.  You’re not paying attention to yourself.  You’re not paying attention to me.  And when I told you what the issue was, you didn’t want to do anything about it, and my way of handling that rejection was to shut off that part of your part of my life.  You can still come back.  You don’t have to verbally apologize.  A non-verbal apology and promise will suffice.  But I don’t think you know how to not say it.

My problem  is I want to stay.  I want to come back.  I want you to come back.  I want my kids to know I genuinely care about them and I want them to return my care appropriately, but I can’t afford to buy that affection.  Thank God most of the time the kids have learned to read me, and know when I can laugh with them versus when what they say or do, or don’t do, will just piss me off .  I want my wife to know the same, but I can only offer so much, and there’s that trigger, more sensitive after almost 25 years of being married.  I’d think she’d know not to do or say those things in that way, and I’d think she’d know it’d be nice if she did something I liked once in a while.

It’s the same at work.  I want to work.  I want to work my ass off and make you a ton of money, but I need the favor returned here too.  Entry level wages and being ignored unless I’m being disciplined does not earn my respect NOR my extra hard work.  You pay me shit, expect my work to be shit.  And it would be if I had no pride in something I have to put my name on.  But my name is on what I do, so I want to do it right. You should want to do right by me in return.  After 10 years I’ve proven I’m worth it, and you should prove you want me to stay.

And it’s the same at church. You’d think with my training and volunteer experience, they’d maybe want me to work at the church, as more than a volunteer.  But no, I can volunteer or I can decide to do nothing.  So I’ve decided to do nothing and see if the doors open somewhere else.  Corporate America does not as a rule promote people who know what the fuck they’re doing from the inside.  They make them stay where they are and work them until they’re worn out.  Similarly, “modern day” “normal” churches do not recruit from within.   They find some superman who looks great on paper and has a more forceful presentation, and all the hidden agendas that go along with that kind of force.  Well fuck that.  If God wants to use me, He’ll set that up, and if not, well, here I remain and I think I have to be ok with that.

And it’s the same with God.  I want to have the best relationship with God, but I often fail.  Being the Creator He should know this and deal with me with a little patient and divine encouragement.  And you’d think my struggle with faith and doubt might be answered like it is with my earthly father- sometimes he’ll slip me a $10 or $20 for just being his son, which is really cool.  And lately, this whole relationship with God has actually improved.  I wonder if it’s because I quit trying to do anything.

People ask how you know when you’re in love, and they ask how to find a significant other/partner/spouse, and I think the answer is the same for some people.  If  you’re aggressive, you run after what you want and you take it whether it was offered willingly out of love, or whether it was just you being a pushy ass hole.  And you think you’re getting what you want, but really you’re just taking it.  I want to be given what I want, willingly and out of love.  And I want people to realize, without me having to tell them, that they’re selfish, grabby, pushy ass holes and they’ve been taking everything at my expense.  But I think you find love when you least expect it, and you wake up and realize you’re in love because you were falling long before you ever realized you had fallen.   I still haven’t figured out how to just get what I want at work, but with marriage it’s been a conscious decision, my choice.  Fuck, I still love her and she treats me like shit quite a bit of the time.  It’s because after I realized I loved her I decided I wanted to be in love and stay that way.

It’s naive and stupid and setting me up for heartbreak, people tell me.  And they say the same thing about believing in God.  But lately,

I quit trying to do anything, and God did some pretty cool things in answer to a pretty snarky prayer “request.”  Actually I was flippant and nearly in denial and He did answer, giving me something I really needed when it was needed.

So maybe this quitting doing anything would work for work, and for wife, and for family.  Except I like a clean house, a dog that’s been walked, a yard that’s been mowed.  I’m not sure which “anything” I need to quit and which I can keep doing, that’ll ultimately and miraculously result in me getting what I need from family and wife.

As it stands, I’ve got a dead cell phone because I didn’t demand we get more time/data yesterday when I thought I had a month left.  Kids don’t clean the house or walk the dog because they know I’ll reach a point of desperation where it’s too gross and needs to be done, or I know the dog is about to create a disaster if I don’t take care of him.  I’ve got nothing happening in other areas because I haven’t demanded that.  I don’t want to demand anything to get what I need.  I want to be treated with love and care and respect just because I’m worth it, but because I’m not demanding and pushy people take me for granted and treat me like shit.

So where’s the road sign from rage and depression and lack, bypassing forceful taking, and driving straight through to people just giving me what I need because I’m worth it?

If you know, let me know.  But right now I have to go buy a fucking phone card because mine is dead and Mrs M and the kids want to text me their list of demands.

A day without all this cloudy, grey, dam(n)p rain so I can mow at mum and dads would be great too, but that’s an appeal to a Higher Power,  Fuck it, if He wants clouds and rain, and rivers in my back yard, bring that shit on until He’s bored with that and moves on to sunshine and rainbows and unicorns and lollipops and neapolitan ice cream and remembering Buttercup, and other shit I might actually enjoy.  Same with the fucking job, and the family, and the church.   Maybe the rain has to fall and I have to be broke, and the job has to be shit and the house has to be filthy and my legs have to cramp until I can barely walk before I take the dog out, and the wife has to be off-putting and insulting and demanding, so I really appreciate when it’s finally sunny, and I finally win the Lottery AND the Publisher’s Clearinghouse, and I finally get a job I really enjoy, and my kids finally help clean the house, and finally make a habit of walking the dog and my wife greets me naked at the door and attacks me with all those soft, beautiful weapons.

For now it’s clouds and rain and cramps and abstinence and alcohol.  Bring it on.  I think I can still weather it a while.

It’s been a while since I thought of Buttercup.  I figure, if I just wait, and refuse to do shit, the rest of the clouds are sure to break soon.  (I know, but shut up and let me have my delusion!)

Clarified Astigmatism

Clarified Astigmatism, 3/21/2017, Deon Mumple

I thought I saw you clearly,
Though we both tried to hide,
We talked and we were friendly,
Shared dreams we held inside,

What we saw was a patchwork
Of what each chose to show
I hid that I was a jerk
You hid the fears you know

Pretending I was better
Than I know me to be
The lies behind the letters
I hoped you wouldn’t see

Pretending we weren’t sore
Faked fearless, hid cage bars,
But joking showed a bit more
We both revealed our scars

I loved you and I love you
As you have shared your pains
While fearing what you would do
If I showed my soul’s stains

You tell me that you love me
We still hurt, life still stings
I see just what you show me
The safer side of things

I tell you that I love you,
My arms, the safest place,
Wishing I’d never hurt you,
Wiping tears from your face,

Is it inevitable
That I will let you down?
The looks of disapproval,
The not-so-subtle frown?

I want to be your safety,
To let you be at rest
But can I do so safely
Since this lacking’s my best?

I’ve just become your nightmare
Wanting to be your dream,
You’ve been my biggest scare,
I’m caged, long to be free

You deserve everything good
But I want to be yours
Despite ways I could or should
Strive to serve you more

You still wear let-downs with style,
I’m trapped, crestfallen, lean,
I’ve dimmed down your loving smile,
I don’t know how to dream.

Sparks Near Inferno’s Gate

By the time you read this it’ll be Thursday. It’s Wednesday headed toward Thursday fast, and I am trying to exercise a way to write just to write something. For those of you who might anticipate a high level of quality writing here, bless your hearts for still holding out hope…

Because, what’s the sign say over the gate to hell in Dante’s Inferno? Come on, you know this one. … No?

“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate.” The most popular translation is “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”

The journey begins and to me it often looks like this:

I heard a preacher on the radio, I know that’s kind of old fashioned but sometimes I’ll hear something that’ll spark my brain in some way. Well, spark it did. I understand that everyone who reads the Bible is going to come away with something different: a specific understanding, a mystery to explore further, an interesting topic, complete confusion, and so on.

It’s Christmas, but I can’t feel it.  Not now.  I feel like Santa left sadness, disappointment, darkness, worry, rage, loneliness, pain, and helplessness behind, along with reindeer shit, in my stocking. Where are you, Christmas? Whoever wrote this song found something they celebrated at the end of the song; I’m stuck between beginning and middle:

If your reaction, to reading or to life, is complete confusion, I’m right there with you, and also I’m sorry to say that my recommendation is to read more. And so it is that with Sunday’s confusing events, and the hated translation, I hoped was butchered, I have checked the Greek. What can I say, I just have weird things that push my buttons. I went to my standard resources, and read and reread. There’s a little word tacked on at the end of Luke 2:14 in the Greek. Doggone it if there is no comma, nothing exact to explain the exact implication. It just says “eudokia.” This is one place where I think King Jim’s translators got it right, though. If there’s a comma implied, it’s SO much better for me.

Curious? Go ahead: http://www.scripture4all.org/OnlineInterlinear/Greek_Index.htm ; dive in. Would I steer you wrong? It’s FASCINATING, really. Next stop on the rabbit trail? I went here: https://www.blueletterbible.org/lang/lexicon/lexicon.cfm?t=kjv&strongs=g2107.

In my study, I do not see any indication that “eudokia,” “good will” is conditional and implies the requirement of God’s delight in order for Him to bequeath the promise of peace. So, though the language in the translation sometimes used implies it, the original language carries no such baggage. Thank God for that. So say whatever you feel like saying, translators who want to attach boat anchors and 16 ton weights to God’s grace. People seem to delight in doing that. Like this:

You want to get into heaven? OK, work for it. Work hard and maybe you’ll earn God’s favor.

Um… How do I know if I did enough good? And …that doesn’t answer the awkwardness of the bad things still on my conscience, so how can I trust that?

I don’t think it works that way. I believe there are no such boat anchors, because of several internal reference points in the same document. You could go back to John 3:16, which starts on the foundation that God loves the world and wants to save us. You could go to Galatians 2:16 or 3:10, which pretty much close the door on us ever measuring up to any kind of approval from God by our own good work. Or Ephesians 2:9-10, which are even more clear. Or Titus 3:3-8, which interestingly enough, makes the point to call out lazy Christ-followers who say, “OK, I’ve accepted God’s grace on my faith. I believe it, so I’m all good,” and they sit and wait for the end and don’t help anyone. There’s a thread though which says it’s not our works that save us, or restore us, or bring us into any kind of relationship with God.

There’s a point to all of this, and I’ll get back to it. It has to do with this preacher guy on the radio, and he went all the way back to Genesis with something that bugged me a little. I mean, I’ve said (above) that there are as many interpretations or understandings as there are people, so maybe the guy’s entitled to his thought process. He was talking about Christmas, and how God came to Earth “in the flesh,” or “incarnate,” which is a big word that means “in the flesh.” What he was trying to get at was that Jesus, the baby who grew to become a man, came as God’s gift of John 3:16 -“God so loved the world that he gave…” Jesus was protected into adulthood, until everything was ready and he was prepared to pay for all the bad things I ever did. OK, yeah, all the bad things you ever did too. Despite all of the attempts made on his ancestors’ lives and on his own, and if you read the story you’ll see those. If Jesus’ ancestors knew about it, they’d have been scared to death for their own lives. But it happened, and Jesus was born, and lived until he was ready and until the time was right. He had to wait until Israel was under Rome’s thumb, so the message could be shared with the whole world. If it was just Israel, they would have just done this:

Under just Israel’s law, no Roman or anyone else in the world would ever know what happened except Israel. But under Roman rule, the message would be visible to Rome and to Israel, and to the world. Under just Israel’s authority, the stars themselves would make less sense.

Rabbit trail #2: The sign for Israel is Pisces, the 2 fishes. (See also Mark 6:41?) The sign for Gentiles (the rest of us), is Taurus, the bull. Right between the two, hard to see hanging up there, is Aries, a ram. (See also Genesis 3:21, Genesis 22, very importantly John 1:29, and also, like a button on the end of a great piece of music, Revelation 5, and there are more, I’ll get to one or two if you can stay with me.) The Bible is a tightly woven tapestry.

This preacher on his radio show, though, said that when Jesus came to earth as a baby, it was the first time He had been in human likeness, or “in the flesh.” But the more I read it the more I wonder if God was showing us how He was going to try to save us, all along. This preacher said that when God walked in the Garden of Eden in the cool of the day (Genesis 3:8) he was not in human form. You remember Genesis 3, it’s where Adam and Eve screwed up, disobeyed God and fell, along with all their descendents including me, and took all of creation on a ripping rollercoaster ride, a twisting, screaming journey to hell in a handbasket. Try to deny it all you want, and then turn on the news. For some, the journey seems short, but on a cosmic scale it’s taking longer than 8,000 years, presuming a young earth, but that’s another can of worms and I am NOT touching it. I won’t go back. But this message, this implication, it bugged me, because the guy has no way of knowing that, and no way to back the statement up. This preacher wasn’t in the Garden with God back in Genesis 3. My Genesis 1:26 isn’t at all unclear: “Let us make humans in our image, in our likeness…”

What I’m saying is not that this preacher was necessarily wrong, or intentionally saying something to mislead. What I’m saying is we all have to dig in to the Bible for ourselves to find our own treasures. It’s important that each of us do that. My assertion is that if we ARE in the likeness of God, “in [His] image, then He must be, in highest form, the pre-image of humans.

To the point, here’s one treasure I take from my digging:

What if God was enabling the restoration of the relationship broken by Adam and Eve as the slain lamb in Genesis 3:21?

What if God was restoring the relationship broken by Abraham, as the slain lamb in Genesis 22?

What if God was enabling the restoration of His relationship with Israel through the symbols of Exodus 12?

What if God promised the possibility of restoration in Isaiah 53 (see the Lamb there in verse 7?), written 2716 or so years ago? And finally,

What if God was offering, if we believe, to restore the whole world, as the Lamb of John 1:29, sacrificed at Passover in John 19, and raised in John 20?

You don’t have to ask yourselves these questions, but I raise them for your consideration.

John wrote in maybe A.D. 90 or so, which puts it at 1926 years or less ago, and the events of John would have taken place maybe 800 years AFTER the prophecy of Isaiah 53. If you’ve followed me down the rabbit trails this far, just read the last few verses of John 20 (verses   29-31). 31 is important. How did Isaiah know 800 years early?

Because if God did that, who am I to say whether He pushed my sorry ass into this pit of despair for some restorative reason? I HATE the pit, but if there’s some value in my being here, then eventually it’ll be fine. I’d really rather not. But I get to hang out with some of you, here in the dark, and you’re pretty cool. Maybe we can walk together a while. Or just sit here, it’s better with your company.  I’m not anything like the Lamb. I just talk about Him, just like John did. I complain WAY too much to compare myself to Him. He is, if you don’t already know, “…One you do not know. He is the One who comes after me, the straps of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie.” (John 1:26-27) He can restore, or establish, a relationship with us, if I’ve read this right. I wish there were, but there’s no promise of any circumstantial changes. Only eternal changes. All it takes is our faith. I still have to walk through this shit for now, but eternally, I’ll be eternally better off than now. I feel abandoned, not that I’m nearly important enough to matter. But Jesus himself felt the same: “Eloi! Eloi! Lama Sabachthani?” (Psalm 22:1, see also Matthew 27:46; and, how did David know a thousand years early how that scene would play out?) It wasn’t just words to Jesus. It was agony far worse than I may ever know.

What if God pushed me into this pit of despair, or let the universe fucker push me, or let me fall all by myself, to encourage JUST ONE of my readers, to let me meet you, to reassure you of your beauty and incredible worth, to assert that God loves you in ways far more pure and complete and unimaginable than I am capable? To encourage you to have courage, and faith? Although I hate the test, although I hate the universe fucker for the whole journey, if you get it, you’re worth it to me. There are times when I hurt not because it sucks to be me, but because I know what you are going through and I wish I could do something that would effectively reduce your pain or just thoroughly and completely rescue you, but there isn’t anything. I pray for you, and can’t not weep.

Christmas is coming and I haven’t got anything tangibly helpful for you. I have a prayer for me, and may it be answered a thousand billion times, yes. And I have a prayer for you, and may it be answered the same, a loud resounding FUCK, YES!!

Here’s my prayer for me:

OK, I confess, that was a joke. Well, halfway. Because I really do want that for Christmas too. But here’s my real Christmas wish for me:

Here’s my prayer for you, and maybe selfishly I want a little of that for myself too. If it gets answered, the way I want, there will be enough for you to share.

I’m going to go to work when I wake up today, because if I don’t, I’ll think about it and start crying again. This time it’s not just for me. It’s for you too.

It took me a long time, but I think I know why I cried for me on Sunday: It’s because I’m broken. It hurts. And try as I may, I can’t fix it.

And I know why I’m crying for you too: I’m broken that we’re all broken, we live in a world that is killing us, slowly and painfully, and we can’t do anything much about it, except to be there as an encouragement to one another. I hate that you hurt, and I wish life treated us all SO much better.  But while we’re alive, I want us all to share an eternal hope, even if we can’t have peace for now.

Please share that hope with me.

~Deon

Revolution

“Meet the new boss, same as the old boss,”
Just ran a revolution but you’ve lost
Because you haven’t  yet count the cost

Deluded, you still think you’ve won.

My whole life’s carefully been invested, spent
Slowly trying to make a dent
Because change always, always, takes a toll
It’s less when we’re more in control
Explosions and notions  in motion
Need to remember their purpose, their soul.

Father, forgive, we don’t know what we’ve done.

Now you’ve got your change,
Say your world looks strange,
And as I expected the world you disrespected
Didn’t turn out quite as good as you predicted;
You insisted, but you missed it, it twisted,

The rocket crash landed, spun.

You like the chaos, disorder, confusion?
Then you are rightly your father’s children:
Your promised greatness, Utopian illusions,
Are exposed, as conditions just worsen.

Now you choose who to do right by,
But to me, you turn a blind eye-
You still look down on me, from the outside,
The “truth” you wanted to believe, lied.

And I bet, when things finish adjusting,
And turn out to be the same thing,
You’ll still be blaming

Someone else for what you‘ve done,

With your guns, and your words,
What you’ve heard,
Argumentum absurd-

um, you desperately believe
What you want to believe in.
Just because you want it to be
True, doesn’t make it not sin.
You’ve left me, undeservedly
Molested, left with even less

Than the less I really had,
The progress and success I should have
As over time, I’ve earned it, you’ve stolen
What I’ve worked for and still don’t have yet
You’re deluded, lie-blinded and can’t find
Or see truth, enraged, destructive, sad.
Deception’s a drug making you a crazed thug, quite mad,
Selfishly claiming that my struggle wasn’t as bad,

Because I respected, and waited, and labored,
And now even more, I’m still waiting, working,
Praying, delaying, dreaming and searching
For my tangible dreams, not your illusions,
Opportunities that you presumed
Were somehow always mine for the taking
But denied from you.  That was never true, breaking
The rules of rights and wrongs I  always had to follow.
You’ve left us all with emptiness.  We’re hollow.

Because you never saw my real reality
Believing your illusion, presumptuously
Seeing something that was never there
You were the only one you ever cared
About, don’t doubt, but it’s been completely clear to me

Our skin’s just as thin
As previous generations
The blanket generalizations
You hate, primarily when
You think one’s being unfairly applied to you
Are equally harmful and untrue
When you use them to lie about me, social spin,

I never had the future handed to me,
But you delusionally
Claimed the one to blame was me,
When I only wanted us to help each other succeed

The hate gets taught, passed down, inherited,
The ignorance, selfishness, destructiveness,
Despair that brings desperation, hopelessness, stress,
Will we always lose?  Our bruised eyes, blinded
Bleeding everyone out, until we are all dead?
We did it to ourselves, and we’re disappointed,

When we could, easier, have worked, and assisted,
Each other, and instead, resisted all
Our selfish ambition, lies yelling in our heads.
It’s coming, a “new” thing, and when we are dying,
Regretfully crying, finally realizing,
The same old strategies still aren’t working,
There’s nothing new happening,

Still thinking others should be carrying our cross,
Destroying, and stealing, not paying the costs.
“Meet the new boss, same as the old boss,”
When we hand the world down, after we’ve lost,

To our rightfully disillusioned, disappointed daughters and sons.

Roped and Tied

Damned jumping cursor stupid loser used laptop bullshit, another reason I hate writing in the morning but I have to do it now or I can’t vent. Wish me luck writing anything, readers (oh wait, haven’t got any of those! Well, when I finish writing I’ll read it, that counts as one.

I broke the espresso carafe from our 20+ year old shitty little espresso machine months ago and so of course today Mrs M wanted espresso when I had gotten up way too fucking early and brewed the coffee for us. It’s her shitty little way of reminding me that I’m never, ever, good enough. Or maybe that’s depression-speak. But I hear her loud and clear when she does that shit. So I stood up to brew the espresso and couldn’t find the fucking arm with the coffee basket, she looked and couldn’t find it either. She accused me of throwing it away in a fit of rage. I wanted to retreat because I didn’t want to say anything. All I felt was rage because I couldn’t find it, because she couldn’t find it, because she was snarky about it, because whenever I do something, anything, she finds a way of minimizing my accomplishment and suggesting, or outright asking, if I would do just a little more, just a little more, just a little more until I realize I can’t do whatever it is, and then I swear she’s smug about her superiority and my re-broken spirit. Fuck. It’s because I’m roped and tied. I don’t really want to escape, because when it’s good it’s good. But when it sucks it really sucks.

If I weren’t a loser I’d be able to accomplish shit, I’d have replaced the damned espresso carafe or the whole machine, I’d be able to keep up with the normal things-fall-apart of life and I’d know how to fix things.  If I weren’t such a loser I wouldn’t have to put up with second-hand shit because I’d have enough money to just get a new _________.  But I’ve never made enough money, and for seasons I just give up and say “fuck it,” and we fall another few thousand behind from where we should be financially.  This is why, when the lottery drawing gets big enough for me to just fucking quit everything and everybody, I daydream about actually having enough.  And if I can scrape up enough, I buy a damn ticket.  And then someone wins that buttload of money, and I wish it had been me.

Young Miss M will soon start driving and want a car for herself, mine is already shitty, rusting, leaking rainwater into the floor carpets from somewhere,  and didn’t want to start the other day, fucking check engine light is on but the last time I checked it was a sensor that cost just over $100, and I just put almost a thousand we didn’t have into Mrs. Ms car, so I don’t have it to spend on my car, or Miss M’s wished-for car.

I can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t HAVE to accept the second hand, the hand-me-downs, the used car, the shitty old third-hand low-tech phone Mrs M got for herself, gave to Miss M, then transferred to me.  I can’t remember a time when I was just able to afford to fix shit or replace shit or just call the guy to fix or replace shit.  Or buy it new.  I go through seasons when second hand is adequate, acceptable, maybe even a fortunate find.  And then I go through seasons when I feel entirely dissatisfied with the used, broken down, old shit and I want more, different, better.

Our carpets are original to our second-hand home, and they have stains the carpet shampooer we rented and I got to use on it yay, lightened, but didn’t actually remove.  Our garbage disposal was leaking so we had it taken out and the sink plumbed without one.  Another sink is currently plugged and very slow, which tells me it’s hair, which Mrs M denies getting in there, and Miss M says “I don’t like that bathroom,” so obviously it isn’t hers either.  Young Mr. M and I both have short hair, but sure, it’s me.  I clogged the sink.

I need a few weeks off from work, and I think it would be nice to just rent the 25 foot yacht in the fucking Bahamas after the current hurricane passes (see also a prior rant) because 25 feet ought to be enough, right? and let a work crew come to the house, replace the carpet, fix the plumbing, clean the house top to bottom, and while we’re at it, have someone pick up the brand fucking new cars for everyone and park them in the six-car garage and take these used clunkers to auction off, stock the refrigerator, and the liquor cabinet, and have the limo pick us all up at the airport.

Well, because the last paragraph isn’t my present reality, I need to get my ass to work.  But for a quick second or two, that was a lovely daydream.  Except it’s Mrs M’s daydream and I got roped in and tied up in it again because that’s what she would want to do.  What I would want to do is hibernate in a posh hotel for two or three weeks and order room service, or go out for steaks, and maybe go shopping for a brand new posh laptop while the crew comes to fix the shit in the house and pick up our new cars.  And buy us a new fucking espresso machine.  Because even if I was rich, I wouldn’t pay the current prices for a fucking cup of coffee.

If the Standards Were Mine to Set

I sometimes wish I were the one setting the standards for life.  Wouldn’t it be fun to be God?  Well, maybe not.  There’s a lot of shit I’d just end people for.  But where would Such a One draw the lines?  Plus, I’m too easily distracted.  Love would be allowed.  Even encouraged.  Helpfulness.  Friendship.  I don’t think I’d command anyone to love me, or care too much about my name.  I think it would be nice if you loved me, but I think I’d understand if for some reason you didn’t.  But if my name expresses and implies my character and I’m right and you’re *saying* I’m wrong, or saying other bad things about me, well, um, fuck you and your name too.  Guess that settles that.

If I could, I’d dole out a little bit more karma on mean people than our current Omnipotent One seems to distribute.  But then, there are my own sins I don’t want karma for.  There would definitely be a score card, and again, where would Such a One draw those lines?  I think, just to scare people straight, there would be face to face meetings with really bad records.  With a warning or two:  “Friend, you really need to stop doing those bad things, and make what you’ve already done wrong, right.  Or I’m done with you, and you really don’t want that.  Really.”  If I HAD to let shit happen to people, I’d arrange a conference with them too, to apologize and show the best things to do to help them fix whatever was allowed.  Bring a note pad.

I’d play with time, too, if time were my bitch.  Murderers would be backtracked to the moment, their personal point of no return from the choice, and ended.  Rapists would be rendered incapable, right before they started, but after they committed themselves to it.  And teleported to a remote place to think about that and then find their way back to civilization, if they survived.  Mount Everest springs to mind.  Death Valley.  And no one would be able to tell anything to anyone about the incident, except that people should never try that because it’s bad.  I think I’d even help if they were desperate enough to ask me to.  Because no one should be assaulted.  Free will is fine, until someone abuses it to abuse someone else.  Child abusers, I think I’d take them apart a piece at a time, and let them live

,

I’d play with resources too, and make enough to go around so no one went hungry.  And those power-crazed despots and dictators?  Nope.  Share, or get off my planet.  In fact, you can help with distribution if you’re going to start acting like an ass about hoarding shit.  Executives?  Everyone gets a fair share, or you get nothing.  Lazy?  You get nothing.  Cheat?  You lose the advantage you pressed and take a step back.  I’d have to be God, just to keep up with the accounting.

I’d play with health, so there’d be no room for sickness on my planet.  No tooth decay either, because that just sucks.  If you’re a dentist, I’m sorry but I’d end your profession, and the doctors too.  Sure, you get to die of old age, or of my just judgement, or possibly your own natural consequences from being stupid.  But diseases can fuck off.  No more physical illness, no more mental illness.

No more poisonous snakes or spiders ever biting people.  I think I’d boost the average intelligence so no more “hey, y’all, watch this!” episodes.  Sorry, AFV and youtube.

Humans?  I’d make the design a little easier to follow and a little harder to get around.  I’d make being normal so much easier.  Bullies get a backtrack too, and a therapy audience to settle that.  And friends, distant friends, would be able to travel where their friends are to visit, talk, hug, and enjoy each other face to face.

I’m busy hiding in my bunker right now, but picture me right where you are, distributing the best hugs anyone has ever had, and then picture me going away because I like my bunker.  I don’t really want to be God.  Imagine creating something and watching that something become a dickhead that hates you.  Like certain teenagers.  My kids haven’t had an episode in a while, I should probably brace myself for the next shitstorm.

That job would be way too much work.  I don’t want it.  I bet people would, even if they knew the consequences, still be selfish, hateful dickheads.  And they would still believe in their hearts that they are “good people.”  I’m probably one in 7,445,000,000 that knows he isn’t.  Anyone who wants what they want as strongly as I do, and has as much rage about not having any control over that, must have something wrong with them.  Plus, I have episodes of being a real jerk.  Honest.

Still, it’d be fun to fix food allergies and end sicknesses and world hunger, and tighten mental health screws and stop people-abusers.  If I did that much, I bet I wouldn’t be needed so much.  Maybe that’s why God lets it run to shit so much.  He likes us to know we need Him.  Well I know I need God, but will He do anything about why I need Him here on earth, or wait until 4 days after I’m dead (like Lazarus)?  And, as much as people need Him, I think the stupid requests would get on my nerves after a while.  Because I still want to win the lottery, so I have more power to fix things and help people here on earth, first for me and my family, and then for other unsuspecting people.  Surprise! You’re now debt free and you have that new car you needed, and while I’m anonymously sending cash, here’s a little extra just for fun.

Hmm.  If I had to pick, I don’t know if it’d be just quiet healing, or infinite cash and resources.  I’d like both powers.  I wonder if I’d be a jerk less often if I had more control.

Probably not.  I’m only human.

My Appetite Wanders To You

My Appetite Wanders To You, 8/14/2016, Deon Mumple

I found someone to walk through life,
To encourage me, to be my wife,
But we don’t always walk the same
And sometimes my walking is lame,
And sometimes what you want, I don’t
And what I want from you, you won’t,
The menu isn’t quite what I want
I’m starving, pale and thin and gaunt

I limp down the road looking for love in vain,
Never quite finding anything that’s true,
The substitutes don’t make the cut, only the pain
Then my appetite wanders to you.

Mum and Dad seem to love through bitter hate
Thrown together by laughing fate
He took her damaged heart’s pieces
She took his patient diseases
We heard the glorified true love’s tale
Swallowed it hook and line, every detail
You aren’t what’s best for me, I make it work,
I’m not what’s best for you, I’m just a jerk

We walk the road fishing for something more real
Three squares but never a filling meal
Our fairy tale happiness was an offense
In the back of our minds, logic makes no sense
There was something to our mums and dads,
Behind the pretense and rage, something they had-
There must be more, we both certainly know
Because neither one of us really wants to go

We walk down the road hand in hand and lonely,
Each wishing we could be the real thing
I believe, bitterly, you were made just for me
And I for you, in spite of reality’s sting
When I want to stray I feel a hole
’til my appetite wanders to you
It’s a taste I crave deep in my soul
Though my heart doesn’t know what to do

I limp down the road looking for love in vain,
Never quite finding anything that’s true,
The substitutes don’t make the cut, only the pain
Then my appetite wanders to you.

 

I Don’t Want a Drug That Makes Me Happy

It’s fine.  Don’t get me wrong.  A drug that could make us happy might be all right.  That’s why so many people like heroin or ecstasy or alcohol or whatever.  But for me, just me, I don’t want a drug that makes me happy.  If I have to have something to be happy, Mrs. M knows exactly what I want and she says “good night, sad boy.”  Kidding.  She doesn’t always say that.  Mostly it’s just “I’m going to bed, good night.”  She says she loves me in the morning, but normally doesn’t speak the language my brain needs to hear.  I wish she was bilingual, speaking both her own love language and mine.  Alas, she tries, sometimes, and far too occasionally, but speaks with a really difficult to understand accent most of the time.

I don’t want a drug that makes me happy.  She wishes I did.  If I took a drug that made me happy and feeling fa la la (la la, la la, la la) all day it might be great.  For her.  But what about what’s making me not happy?  Or, what about what I need, or want, that would make me happy?

Needs and wants, needs and wants.  It’s the ongoing wrestling match between me and the world and between me and God if you will, because Paul claimed,

Philippians 4:19 (new international version)
“And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus.”:

Christ followers quickly jump on my case and tell me that if my “needs” aren’t met it’s because I don’t “need” them.  To which, the only appropriate response -or is it inappropriate? – seems to be a hearty “Fuck you.”

If God doesn’t think I need what I think I need then let God fix my brain so I only want what I need.  And further, let God fix my brain so getting what I need is enough to make me happy.

I don’t want a drug that makes me happy.  I want a life that makes me happy.  If I got what I wanted, I might be happy.  I say “might,” because I know a lot of people , a few of which seem to have everything they want, and I honestly don’t know if it makes them really happy.  And there are performers out there, whose lives went under microscopes because they suicided while seeming to have everything they wanted and obviously that wasn’t enough to make them happy.

I’m being a bit selfish, maybe.  In no particular order, here are 10 things that, having all of them, might make me happy, and I do want all of them:

10: reciprocal affections from Mrs. M- top of the list, because I may be old but I’m not dead.  As with the above suggestion of how it would be nice if God made me want just what I needed and provided the same per the written promise, it would also be nice if she wanted what I wanted and vice versa and we met each other reciprocally.
9: freedom to date and romance Mrs. M- next on the list because it would just be nice to be able to go out once in a while without worrying about the bank account.  Dating and romance might lead to #10, I say “might” because she might still be too tired to indulge my whims, not to mention the whole love language miscommunication issue.  I’m somewhat thankful here, that she hasn’t mentioned any plans to kick me to the curb, but the bank account issue brings us to
8: freedom to choose my menu instead of always having to eat on the cheap.  Yes, (fuck you,) there are starving children who don’t have choices, but this is my list and it’s intent is indulging ME.  And yes, there is a dollar menu, I’m acquainted with that and it’s sometimes acceptable, but sadly I am more acquainted with instant cup of soup and ramen than I want to be.
7: freedom to pay bills on time, every time- I’m somewhat thankful here because the electric company hasn’t shut off the power, and the banks aren’t repossessing my shit.  But I would be happy if I were not on the cliff side looking down and waiting expectantly for the next avalanche.  I’m also thankful that more shit hasn’t fallen apart, but with that decay in mind I would currently like to have
6: freedom to fix
-teeth- something I’m somewhat thankful for, I don’t hurt often or much but these cracked teeth are a bitch. It would be nice to get dental implants, but for the moment I’d just like to have the remaining fragments removed properly to avoid infection.
5:   -cars – something I’m somewhat thankful for, they both run and get us from A to B.  We’re both due for oil changes, but it’d also be quite nice to get the chronic check engine light off on her car.
4:   -heat- the heat exchange has cracked, which means CO emissions are possible, potentially leaking into the house if we run it.  It’s currently shut off.  We spent our savings on the damned AC already, something I’m also somewhat thankful for is that we were able to afford that somehow before the global warming fries us all, and also thankful that near the end of the cold season we didn’t all die from CO leakage.
3:  time and energy to
-finish a project.  Those who share my twisted joy that Dexter is still on Netflix will share a grim grin and a slight cringe recalling a quote, “I’m taking on a project.” (Season 4)  So yet another thing I’m thankful for.  But I have taken on a few projects that need focus and inspiration, and time, to finish, and I need time and focus and inspiration to finish them.  Two projects are creative in nature but I just can’t get away long enough to do anything I feel is worthwhile.  I hear you telling me to divide it up and do one small section at a time, and I wish that was how it worked.  In fact, I wish I knew how it worked so I could work it.  The other projects are repair and maintenance projects and they’re ongoing and they steal what energy I might otherwise devote to the creative.
2.  -clean neglected areas of the house.  When I’m on my way to somewhere, the dirty dishes in the sink call to me.  When I’m on my way out, and have to visit my bathroom, I always notice it- the floor looks dusty.  When I’m fixing food or washing dishes, the kitchen floor needs sweeping and mopping.  When I’m headed to some required appointment, I observe that the carpets are really in need of replacement but I’ll settle for shampooing them, and when I’m exhausted and fall into bed I’m aware there is dust on the ceiling fan and on the things in my bedroom, and clutter that needs putting away.  With this in mind, I am grateful to have a home in need of grooming, which brings us to my next happiness inducer, time and energy to
1.  -groom and schedule myself.  It might be nice if my schedule were regimented.  Wake, shit, shower, shave, breakfast, write, work, exercise, dinner, chores, errands, projects, write, sex, sleep, sex, sleep.  But even if I tried such regimen there would be interruptions and denials of access that would drive my compulsivity batshit.  I realize the trip to batshit is a short one, shut up.  So maybe regimented with the freedom to lapse if I need to, or if I choose to.  Also, there are things in life that one can’t schedule, which makes the whole idea impossible to achieve until or unless I am free to do “what I want, when I want (to whomever I want,” another Dexter reference that just popped in my head to make me laugh at myself-season 3).  And then, if I were free, would I do it?  So I’m grateful yet again for a few things- a) that I’m able to laugh at myself, b) that Mrs. M doesn’t obsess too much over my physical appearance or my wardrobe choices and c) hasn’t kicked me to the curb in favor of someone closer to prepackaged perfection in those areas.  I saw a girl (I say, “girl,” but she was in her late 20s or early 30s, whatever, they’re all too young and I’m all too married for any of that) on Sunday who obviously has nothing but time on her hands.  She had her eyebrows perfect, and her eye makeup perfect and her dressy-casual outfit perfect, and she was talking to her perfect friends who were scheduling the perfect lunch after church.  I looked over at my wife, and with no free time on her hands had herself nearer to perfection than any other woman could under the same circumstances.  She rocks.  Damn, I’m a lucky man, how the fuck did I win Mrs. M?
0. Yup, “Oops, I did it again.”  another list of 10 that has 11.  I want the freedom to intervene on behalf of friends who(m? my grammar sensibilities are shut off at the moment, so if it’s wrong, sorry) I know are in greater need than me.  But I can’t because I’m swamped with my own issues.  There’s no money, there’s no time, there’s no extra margin.  So all I get to  do is pray and hope my prayers on their behalf are answered better than prayers on my own behalf are answered.  I bought a $1 fucking lottery ticket, with an exchange rate of 1:203,000,000.  Sounds great, if it pays me.  And when I win, I’ll see about this damned list. And yes, I’m somewhat grateful that I had a $1 lingering in my wallet so I could have my one shot at the jackpot.  We’ll see.  Freedom is a dream devoutly to be wished, and I’m wishing.

I Wish That I Could Clone Myself

I Wish That I Could Clone Myself, 4/20/2016, Deon Mumple

I wish that I could clone myself and give my selves away
I’d keep a few to mow the grass and clean the house all day
Fix the drywall, take the kids to the mall,
Drive to the store, and so much more,
Except I know I’m frustrating despite my varied skills,
If it’s all genetic the clones still couldn’t pay the bills,

The clones would all see life’s too hard and selfish people rule
They might surrender like I do sometimes, I’m such a tool,
Pour me a drink, so I won’t think
Life really sucks, things fall apart
On second thought maybe cloning is not the best of plans,
If only someone else could help me wash dishes and pans!


(I’m sure Fox owns the copyright to this image, brought to us by the creative genius that is Seth Woodbury MacFarlane.)

(image borrowed from the following brilliant blog, presuming fair use:  https://charltonhestonsvest.wordpress.com/2009/11/27/bitch-peyton/)