I Never Signed Up for This

 
I never agreed to live in a world of...
violence
hatred
rage
rape
disease
aggression
terrorism
injury
pain
molestation
intimidation
domination
humiliation
discrimination
frustration
shit
piss
vomit
blood
mucus
garbage
death
depression
suicide
shitty jobs
commuting
driving
accidents
carnage
unemployment
obsolescence
multiple allergies
flossing
tooth brushing
gargling
bruising
showering (boring)
hand washing
dish washing
ass wiping
toilet cleaning
sink cleaning
stove cleaning
dusting
shoelace tying
door opening
door closing
window opening
window closing
vacuuming
sweeping

weapons
muggings
robberies
home invasions
war
burglaries
lay offs
greed
dishonesty
cheating
users
abusers
bullies
evil
evil doers
evil deeds
backlash
blow back
revenge
money lovers
people who don't care about animals
people who regularly, and thoughtlessly, contribute to animal cruelty by buying meat, eggs, dairy, leather, fur, etc.

What Makes Me Cry

Taken in Paris after the November 13, 2015 attacks.

What makes me cry?  In alphabetical order, life, movies, music, and terrorist attacks.

Prose & Poetry

 
Do Not Weep, Maiden, for Death Is Kind

What I want to do most is sleep.  That is how I know I want to die, for death is eternal sleep.  There is  no waking from it.  Every morning, I'm disappointed to have woken.  What I really want is to die, peacefully and painlessly, in my sleep.
Perhaps no one believes the person who threatens suicide will do it .  So many people have bitched and moaned about life and suicide, but most of them won't do it.
I was recently told, during a mental health appointment, that alcohol is a depressant.  I knew that already.  My response?  Life, existence, is a depressant, and it is much more powerful than alcohol.
Now that I've accepted death, I feel a certain peace: a peace that passeth all understanding.
Except for animals, I don't care anymore.  I've heard that (I don't care anymore.) in at least 2 songs (Phil Collins and Wilco).
As I wrote in my memoir, Memoir of an American Loser (under my pen name-Zach Murphy), suicide, for me, is like a blanket that sits on a high shelf in a closet.  It's ready to be employed whenever I'm sure the world is too cold to bear.
And if I kill myself, don't weep for me.  Weep for yourself, and the rest of the living (with the obvious exception of Isis members), because there is no pain and suffering in death: only in life.
I hope my writing survives: my 2 books, one about people's horrible treatment of animals (Veganman) and the other a humorous, bittersweet memoir about the pain of life (Memoir of an American Loser), this blog, and, to a lesser degree, what I've posted on Facebook and Twitter.  There's a lot of other stuff too, but it either isn't finished, or there's no place for it at this time.

Life Sucks: a poem

Life sucks
Life ducks?
Life trucks?
Life tucks?
Life bucks?
Life f*cks?
Life clucks?
Life pucks?
Life mucks?
Life luck's?
Life lux?
No, life sucks

Computer Blues

 
I have not been able to open my documents using the Microsoft Word Starter 2010 program that came preinstalled on my computer for days now.  I'm usually pretty good at finding answers to my computer problems: not this time.  Perhaps it had something to do with the recent "free" upgrade to Windows 10 that Microsoft offered to me.  If I had known this would happen, I wouldn't have taken the bait.  I have been able to use Libreoffice to open documents that I don't care that much about.  But I was updating Veganman before this happened, which was written using MS Word Starter 2010.  I'm nervous about opening, working on, and saving it using Libreoffice.  I don't want it to get messed up or changed.  I'm hoping it'll be OK (if I have to do it that way), because I can't find a solution to this dilemma.
So I think it's likely I'll change my previous position and rat on my next-door neighbor.  These kids are so f*cking loud.  Their mother is loud too.  She obviously doesn't care to be a good parent and keep her kids under control.  I've seen 2 kids, and I've seen 3 kids.  I assume she has 3 young children.  She's a shitty parent.  That's how I feel about it.  She allows her kids to bother the neighbors.  She acts as though she, and her kids, are entitled to be here.  We'll see about that.  I don't want to be a snitch, but I don't want to deal with this shit either.  Since snitches are so hated, doesn't it take balls to be one?  If I can improve my living situation by making a phone call, why wouldn't I?  That's me.  I don't care what other people think.  I don't care what other people do.  I think and do what I feel like thinking and doing.
Have I mentioned how much I hate pooping?  I hate yawning almost as much.  That's how I start the day: pooping and yawning.  Yawning while pooping.  Do I even have to explain why pooping sucks?  I hope not.  It sucks even more for me because of my OCD; it makes me wipe excessively.  Yawning sucks.  It's boring.  Sometimes, my mouth opens so widely, that it hurts my jaw.              

Tiny Leopard-Print Shoes

How could I?  Sure, there's a violation,but I can't unsettle children.  It's not right.  My neighbor has been harboring peoplein his apartment that, I believe, aren't on the lease.  At least 2 young children, and their mother, have been joining my neighbors: a married couple.  There has been extra noise to deal with.  The kids have been loud as early as 7:00 am in the hallway, which I've heard.  First of all, it's not cool to snitch.  Secondly, it's not cool to mess with the lives of kids.  I need to tell myself there things, because I don't like the situation.  I need to try to stop myself from calling the rental office about this situation.  It helps to picture the tiny leopard-print shoes I saw in the hallway outside my neighbor's door.  They must belong to one of the girls that's staying there.  I haven't walked a mile in her shoes, and I never will.  My feet couldn't fit into them. 

Closer:Poetry & Prose

 
The closer I get to death, the better.
The closer I get to suicide, the better.
The closer I get to the bottom, the better.
The closer I get to the end, the better.
For that is where the pain will end.
Please allow me to update you on my marvelous career.  Things were going just fine working as a janitor at a bookstore.  Then I walked into the men's room, to clean it, and it hit me: the smell.  It was a bad smell.  I checked the toilets.  Sure enough, one of them was filled with poop soup.  It was so f*cking gross.  I began to gag.  Tears streamed down my face.  What could I do?  I flushed it: hoping it wouldn't overflow.  It didn't, but the noxious mess didn't go down.  I kept flushing it, as I kept gagging with tears rolling down my unremarkable face.  What if I have to plunge it?!  What if some of it splashed onto me as I was doing that?  Fortunately, I made some progress with my flushes.  Finally, after several flushes, it was gone.  But, not surprisingly, the toilet had been annihilated with poop stains.  Lucky me, it was my job to clean it, which led to more gagging and tears.
That wonderful assignment ended.  I was merely filling in for a man that cleans bathrooms 7 days a week.  I'd rather be homeless or dead.  My job developer got me another cleaning job.  I wasn't at all excited about it.  First of all, it was quite a long drive away.  I accepted it anyway.  He took me to my first night there.  I soon learned it would be my responsibility to clean 4 buildings for a company that manufactures bricks or something like that.  The place was filthy.  Floors needed to be mopped, carpets needed to be vacuumed, and toilets needed to be cleaned.  I would spend at least 2 and a half hours working there that night, but I knew pretty early on that I didn't want that shitty job.  On the way back, my job developer and I didn't talk much at all.  I wanted to wait until we were in the parking lot of my apartment building.  Just before getting out of his jeep, I said, "I'm sorry, but I don't want this job."  He said, "Yeah, I figured that."
I'd rather be homeless or dead than clean other people's shit out of toilets. 
          

Garbage Society

 
I can only speak for the American society, because that is where I have lived my entire life, but I suspect societies in other nations are quite similar.
Nature is perfect.  Nature is beautiful.  Sure, violence exists in nature, and it certainly exists in our society.  But this is a violent world.  It always has been, and it probably always will be.  But our society sucks compared to nature.
Society is very hypocritical.  Murder is a serious crime.  Thou shalt not kill is a commandment.  But animals are killed, unnecessarily, on a massive scale.  It's also okay to kill during war.  In fact, the more foreigners you kill, the more of a hero you are.
Society is not fair.  In the wild, life is more fair than human society.  It's simple: survival of the fittest.  Conservatives like to pretend life in our society is fair, but this is the problem.  Some people are born into a situation in which there is no father and the mother is an abusive crack whore.  Many people are born into situations in which their parent(s) are lazy, stupid, or uncaring.  Other people have parents that are intelligent, successful, and caring.  Perhaps they feel as though if their sons or daughters are failing, then they are failing.
So we're not all dealt the same hand.  I pretty much fall into the middle category.  I am the result of a teenage pregnancy.  I was not wanted.  I was, as my mother once told me, "a mistake."  How am I a mistake, when you're the one that made the mistake?  My father left my mother and me when I was 2 years old.  My mother is stupid, lazy, and uncaring.  I come from a cold family that, I believe, has a history of mental illness.  What I find to be interesting is that I have 3 cousins, and we're all in our 30s and 40s.  None of us have children.  The odds are certainly against that.  I think we all know we come from a crazy family, and we shouldn't pass the insanity on.  People that come from situations like mine (and worse) have lived miserable lives in poverty, prison, and they have committed suicide.
And, of course, there is the treatment of animals.  Humans have decided that animals are here for them to use in any way they see fit.  Again, people don't need to eat meat to survive.  The healthiest foods to eat are veggies, fruits, nuts, seeds, beans, and whole grains.  In our capitalistic society, animals are things to make a profit from.  "Food" animals, like pigs and chickens, are crammed into buildings, as many as possible, because that is the way that will make the most money.  They frequently aren't given needed medical care, because it would cost money to alleviate their suffering.
I could go further, but I'm making too many keyboard gaffes, and I'm over it.