Mother's Day

Today is Mother's Day here in the states, where so few have so much, and so many have so little.  Here is my Mother's Day message to my mother: FUCK YOU!  I'm also sending that out to all the other shitty mothers: fuck you too.  I hate my mother.  It makes sense to hate your parents.  They brought you into a world of violence, misery, pain, and shit.
Mother's Day and Father's Day are very backwards "holidays."  Instead of honoring biological (I have absolutely nothing against good adoptive parents.) mothers and fathers on these days, perhaps we should beat the shit out of them instead.  That would make more sense.
I was gonna write this post anyway, but, before I left work, I had to deal with 2 assholes, which only solidified my position that my mother is a cunt that deserves to be hated.
Also today, as I walked by some Canadian geese, one of them hissed at me.  It was because she was worried about her babies.  She was warning me to stay away from them.  I smiled at her and told her she had nothing to worry about.  She's a much better mother than mine ever was.   
I'll tell a little story about my mother.  Only a few years ago, I had moved in with my mother because I needed help.  I had tried to commit suicide, so I thought my policy of being alone might not be working.  Anyway, I was walking down the street I had grown up on.  Just before I reached my mother's house, some guy in a car stopped me.  "Excuse me," he said.  "But we've been having some burglaries on this street lately.  What are you doing here?"  I don't remember exactly what he said, but ti was definitely something like that.  It must have seemed so strange to see someone walking when most fat asses wouldn't dream of doing that: just drive everywhere.  So this asshole obviously thinks he has more rights that the police do.  
I pointed at the house I grew up in, and said, "That's my mother's house.  I grew up here."  Then he backed off.  I know I was pissed off, as I had every right to be, so I said something that made him give me a dirty look and say, "Okay, okay, " as though I was the asshole: not him.  That's when my mother made the scene.  She's an attention whore.  She saw me talking to someone, and she had to get involved.  She desperately needs attention.  The situation was explained to her, but instead of being angry at the man for accusing her son of being a criminal, she had a friendly chat with him, because attention is more important to her than her son is.
You might be thinking, that's not so bad.  Well, I know my mother, and I know she's stupid, lazy, uncaring, and selfish.
I'll tell another story about her.  As a teen, I was molested by a male family member because she failed to protect me.  She knew he was gay, but she allowed him to sleep in the same room as me.  Now, I know that being gay doesn't make you a child molester, but this one was.  I told no one about it until after he died.  Then I told my mother.  Every time I mentioned it to her, I've been disappointed with her reactions.  I don't know if she doesn't believe me or what the problem is.  When I went to stay with her, after my suicide attempt, I saw a certain picture displayed proudly on her bookcase: a framed photo of my molester.  It wasn't just him; his sisters were in it too, but what sort of a mother would display a picture of her son's molester in her home?  I confronted her about it, and she acted like she couldn't believe how jerky I was acting as she waddled her fat ass over to the photo and put it in a drawer.  What a piece of shit.             

Pain & Suffering

I've accepted that life will bring pain & suffering every day.  Every day DOES bring pain and suffering.  The pain is physical, mental, and emotional.  The suffering is mental and emotional.
But it's nothing compared to what animals have to endure because of selfish people.  At work, I have to deal with so many people buying deadly mousetraps and other animal killers.  I want to say something to them, but I don't want to risk losing my job.  I'm trying to live.  Without a job, suicide is more of a possibility.  I want to suggest they use humane methods to trap and release them: unharmed.  If I ever stop giving a fuck altogether, which is a distinct possibility, I might say things like that.  They even buy gopher poison.  I don't know if there are gophers around here, or if they're just targeting my beloved groundhogs.  I'm not in favor of killing either, but it really saddens me to think that people want to kill groundhogs.  They are so cute.
I'm also forced to see a sea of leather.  Some sickos are turned on by leather.  It's dead cow skin.  Cows are peaceful vegetarians.  It's disgraceful, and caveman-like, to wear leather.
At a department store I worked at during the X-mas season, I heard and saw a real cretin in the break room.  She was hideously ugly: inside and out.  She was talking about some sort of family gathering.  "We had 2 things of meatballs, which I didn't need!  I also had sausage."  She told some story about kids who were allowed to shoot birds, which is disgusting and despicable.  She thought it was funny,  In fact, she said a pastor was fine with it: killing for fun.  There's religion for you; people matter (because they put money in the collection plate) and animals don't.  She said she sent a thank you card to the family that contained the bird killers that had a picture of birds on it, and she thought it was hilarious.  Apparently, the father of these kiddie killers got pissed off when squirrels stored nuts in his boat.  She mentioned that, in the card, she wrote that the kids should shoot squirrels instead, and she thought this was very funny.  Hey bitch, animals are cute, and you look and sound like a walking, talking pile of shit.  Fuck you.          

Shit

 
I shit every day
Every day, I have to deal with shit (literally and figuratively).
Currently, I'm dealing with 2 computer-related glitches: I can't get my printer to work (No surprise, I haven't successfully printed anything in quite a while.), and this blog keeps counting my own page views, which I don't want to happen, and I haven't been able to fix it.
Death would be so much easier.  There's so much shit to do: so much shit to remember.  Life is such a gigantic pain in the ass.  Say what you want to, but, except for that phase where I posted fiction about a groundhog with superpowers (Yes, I did.), this blog is REAL.
I know I've covered this before, but this whole business of bringing people into the world is such a crazy cycle.  Unhappy people, in a desperate attempt to be happy, bring people into the world (for their own sake).  These people start their lives off by crying.  Babies cry a lot.  Perhaps they're smart enough to know they've been brought into a brutal world of pain, misery, and death.  Of course, things will get (a lot) worse for them.  It blows my mind that people have become successful by creating a line of clothing that has "Life Is Good." printed on it.  What bullshit.  Living the lie.  That's what the creators and the buyers are doing: living the lie.
By the way, don't EVER Google images of shit (like I did for the purpose of this post).  You will see real images of human shit, which I can't deal with.  On the other hand, it's probably a good appetite suppressant.  

Not Such a Bad Day (So Far)

I've decided to file for bankruptcy.  I didn't really have a choice.  I can't pay my expenses and my minimum monthly credit card payments on what I earn.  It occurred to me what a loser I am.  When a local legal aid society said they would represent me for less than most lawyers probably would, it sort of made my day.  Successful people's days are made when they make loads of money.  Today, I got another boost.  The legal society sent lots of papers for me to fill out.  I did as soon as I received them.  I worked a full day, then filled these papers out for at least 4 hours.  With all the questions about what I own, I became a little paranoid.  Are they gonna take my CDs?  Are they gonna take my car?  I called the legal office, and they said I wouldn't lose them. I had a bunch of questions, and I liked the answers to most of them.
Having a job gives me purpose.  I'd still rather be dead than alive, but, in a weird and stupid way, I'd feel guilty about killing myself, because I wouldn't be able to show up for work.  I'd be letting people down (that are depending on me).
Twice now, I've seen shows about people killing others by poisoning them with antifreeze, which I've contemplated doing to myself.  It seems like a gradual process: not a one-day thing.  One of these poisoners said that you can kill someone in 10 days with antifreeze poisoning.  Since I have a job, it seems like a bad idea to do that to myself.  I wouldn't want to get really sick, or fall, at work, cause then I'd probably get rushed to the hospital and maybe get "saved," which would defeat its own purpose.  Apparently, if you get saved from it, you could be left with brain damage.  Life is already hard enough without that.
They tried to deal with the birds-trapped-in-the-store situation I mentioned previously.  After the store closed for the evening, they set up nets.  Then a hawk was released.  The hawk herded the birds into the nets.  That's all I heard about it.  I hope the birds were released: unharmed.  At any rate, once again, there are plenty of birds in the store.  These poor birds are trapped there without water.  It just goes to show how humans dominate and harm animals even when they don't intend to do so.       

Hell Is Other People

I'm really down at this point: even more than usual.  My credit card debt is out of control.  It's never far from my mind.  I'm obsessed with it: and for good reason.  This month, I probably won't be able to make my minimum monthly payments for the first time.  Of course, for a while now, the only reason why I was able to make those payments is by taking out monthly cash advances from my credit cards.  I was just denied a debt consolidation loan by Lending Club.  I sent an application to a local low-cost legal aid organization for help with filing for bankruptcy.  I'm waiting to hear from them.  I don't know if they'll help me or not.
Suicide seems more and more like the best option.  It's too hard, though.  It' should be easy.  If you're an adult, and no one is depending on you (kids, pets), then you should be able to go to a pharmacy and purchase pills that will kill you peacefully and painlessly in your sleep.  I'm not a bad guy.  I don't deserve to die a painful death.  I don't deserve to fail and end up paralyzed.  I could jump off a nearby bridge, but what if it didn't kill me?  I'd be a total mess.
Every day brings more and more reasons to die.  At work, some customers treat me like shit.  One of them bragged to me about how much money he has.  He started with, "It's nice to have money."  Then he told me his father-in-law is a millionaire, and he saved $300,000 from a job.  Now he has a job that pays him better than the other one.  I'm consumed with my very depressing financial situation, and this prick rubs his money in my face.
I've really come to dislike a coworker of mine.  She happens to be a young, attractive woman (stupid and boring, though).  She and I started at this company at the same time.  However, she must see herself as some sort of a leader.  When I'm working next to her (which I'd rather not), she doesn't mind her own fucking business and instead pays attention to what's going on with me.  I'll be doing something, and she'll start instructing me.  The problem is that I don't need her instruction; I'm doing just fine.  It's distracting and annoying.  
And to top it all off, I'm reading a book that mentions suicide repeatedly.  It is so hard to get through work.  It's so hard to get through the day.  It's so hard to live.

Human Punching Bag

 
My "friend" has kicked me out of his house twice and attempted to kick me out of his car once (It wasn't moving at the time.).
At work, customers have fucked with me.
My neighbor hates me and tries to bother me  He is full of anger towards me.
I'm not happy at home, at work, or out with my "friend."
Only the threat of incarceration, homelessness, and injury keeps me from lashing out against my tormentors.
This is life.
Life is shit.

Work

It's so surreal to transition from unemployment to working full time.  There are times when I'm just standing there:waiting to service customers (I'm a cashier.).  Oh well, I'm miserable when I'm home; I'm miserable when I'm there.  At least there I'm earning money and socializing to a degree.
I've noticed certain things at work.  There are birds in the store.  I had seen this sort of thing before at Wal-Mart.  Birds come into the store.  Then what?  I think, in most cases, it's over for them.  Their chances of escape don't seem to be very good.  I think they would most likely die of thirst or hunger.  It's so sad to hear them calling out to their friends or family.
Someone bought a large poster.  It was a drawing of someone holding bacon in their fist, and the caption said, "bacon power."  It's obviously supposed to be funny.  It isn't funny at all.  Bacon is the result of the murder, and, most likely, cruel confinement of pigs.  It disgusts me that people are so callous that bacon has become a funny thing to them.
In the break room, I overheard someone casually saying that someone was going to get rid of their dog because they were worried about their baby.  That sort of shit is so typical.  Get a dog, then get rid of the dog because you're worried he or she might hurt your child.  Animals aren't things to be returned to the store.  Many dogs have been devastated when they've been rejected by (what they thought were) their families.  They often go from a house to a cage in a shelter: dog prison.  But they haven't committed any crimes.  Hey assholes, have some foresight.  Don't get a dog if you're just going to get rid of him or her once you have a kid.    
A lot of old folks come into the store where I work.  It's horrible to see what old age does to people.  It beats them down.  Some of these people are barely standing: let alone functioning.  They are walking dead.  They are nearly complete messes.  I hope I die before I get old(er).
And, ultimately, as usual, I ask myself, why shouldn't I throw my tired old broken, pain-ridden body off a bridge? 

Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now

The Smiths

Haven't blogged in a while.  There's at least two reasons for that.   First of all, I'm a complete mess, and, secondly, I have a job.  I got a job working for a major home-improvement chain store.  I'm still facing major credit card debt.  I might have to file for bankruptcy if I can't get a loan to pay off these credit cards.  But this job is difficult to tolerate.  To do what I'm doing, full-time, is a bit of a nightmare, but, as I and others have mentioned before, life itself is pretty much a nightmare.  I really have to tough it out to make it through the day.  To me, work has become an endurance challenge.  It's driving me crazier than I already am.

Here's a new section on the Bald Vegan!  It's called "thoughts."  I hope you like it!

I"m sure that life sucks.  Sometimes, when I'm in the midst of a deep depression, I remind myself that I can commit suicide anytime I want to, and it cheers me up a little.

I don't' believe in heaven, but I believe in hell, and this it it.  This planet has a history of violence that is staggering in its scope.

I'm jealous of the dead.

After death, even soft, healthy skin will rot.

That's thoughts for this week.  I'll end with a poem for a poet.

Who am I?
How do others see me?
How do I see myself?
What do others think of me?
Is that really me in the mirror?
Do I exist?
Will anyone miss me when I'm gone?

Human

 
It occurred to me that I'm not good at being a human being.  I don't like doing many of the things that humans do: driving a car, putting on socks,  putting on shoes, putting on shirts, putting on pants, putting on underwear, taking those things off again, showering, flossing, brushing my teeth, making coffee, cooking, cleaning, dealing with shitty people, receiving bills, paying bills, seeing commercials, seeing ads, working at shitty jobs, applying for shitty jobs, doing laundry, and so on.  I'm not good at making decisions.  When you're a human, there are so many choices to make.  There are so many things to remember.  It's too complicated.
I'm much more of an animal.  I'm good at eating and lying around.  Of course I believe that humans are animals; we have so many things in common with them.  We just happen to be the worst, most destructive, animals to ever walk the Earth.  It's quite possible I'll soon be forced to live like an animal: outside.  Suicide is also an option.  Sometimes I think I'd like to leave this society, but it's hard to imagine life without toilet paper and ass washing.  I know I mentioned I don't like showers, and it's true, but they, like many things, are a necessary evil.
I want to make clear that even though I object to working at any of these places, because they serve meat, I applied for jobs there anyway, becasue I was trying to SURVIVE: McDonald's, Panera Bread, and DiBella's Subs.  I didn't hear back from any of them: no interest whatsoever.  Where's the hope?

Poor Glenny

The cover of American Loser

Poor Glenny only wants a dog and a house, but he can't afford either, because he doesn't have a job, which is something else he wants, but, no matter how many times he tries, no one will give him one.

My back is jacked.
My feet hurt.
My ears are ringing.
There's regular pain in my knees.
My eyesight's failing.
My brain wants to kill me.
It's only going to get worse.

Ever since I watched that documentary about Kurt Cobain, I've been listening to a lot of Nirvana.  I think part of the reason is that, despite what he's accomplished, I needn't be jealous of him.  He's dead.  We can't take it with us.  It's hard to be reminded, on a daily basis, that so many people are doing so well while I'm so miserable and contemplating suicide every day.  Cobain is also a reminder that suicide is an option: a real possibility.  By now, I know I'm not going to wake up happy; I never do.    

Kurt Cobain's Suicide Note

(I, not Cobain, am responsible for highlighting (bold) words.)
"To Boddah
Speaking from the tongue of an experienced simpleton who obviously would rather be an emasculated, infantile complain-ee. This note should be pretty easy to understand.
All the warnings from the punk rock 101 courses over the years, since my first introduction to the, shall we say, ethics involved with independence and the embracement of your community has proven to be very true. I haven't felt the excitement of listening to as well as creating music along with reading and writing for too many years now. I feel guity beyond words about these things.
For example when we're back stage and the lights go out and the manic roar of the crowds begins., it doesn't affect me the way in which it did for Freddie Mercury, who seemed to love, relish in the the love and adoration from the crowd which is something I totally admire and envy. The fact is, I can't fool you, any one of you. It simply isn't fair to you or me. The worst crime I can think of would be to rip people off by faking it and pretending as if I'm having 100% fun. Sometimes I feel as if I should have a punch-in time clock before I walk out on stage. I've tried everything within my power to appreciate it (and I do,God, believe me I do, but it's not enough). I appreciate the fact that I and we have affected and entertained a lot of people. It must be one of those narcissists who only appreciate things when they're gone. I'm too sensitive. I need to be slightly numb in order to regain the enthusiasms I once had as a child.
On our last 3 tours, I've had a much better appreciation for all the people I've known personally, and as fans of our music, but I still can't get over the frustration, the guilt and empathy I have for everyone. There's good in all of us and I think I simply love people too much, so much that it makes me feel too fucking sad. The sad little, sensitive, unappreciative, Pisces, Jesus man. Why don't you just enjoy it? I don't know!
I have a goddess of a wife who sweats ambition and empathy and a daughter who reminds me too much of what i used to be, full of love and joy, kissing every person she meets because everyone is good and will do her no harm. And that terrifies me to the point to where I can barely function. I can't stand the thought of Frances becoming the miserable, self-destructive, death rocker that I've become.
I have it good, very good, and I'm grateful, but since the age of seven, I've become hateful towards all humans in general. Only because it seems so easy for people to get along that have empathy. Only because I love and feel sorry for people too much I guess.
Thank you all from the pit of my burning, nauseous stomach for your letters and concern during the past years. I'm too much of an erratic, moody baby! I don't have the passion anymore, and so remember, it's better to burn out than to fade away.
Peace, love, empathy.
Kurt Cobain
Frances and Courtney, I'll be at your alter.
Please keep going Courtney, for Frances.
For her life, which will be so much happier without me.

I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU!"