Bandito of Emotional Crap
I love to hate people… or so I say. I am probably one of the biggest humanitarians you’ll come across. What I hate is the bullshit of blind prejudices when they’re bored. There really is so much more we could be doing with our time. Like what? I don’t know; I’m not really here to be informative. But even activists and social workers are inherently selfish—more so than greedy assholes. At least greedy assholes spare us the rhetoric and create things. They hardly ever kid us about being assholes.
The problem with assholes is that they receive no consequences for their bad behavior. I would like to redesign our culture so that people have self worth and therefore responsibility. They’d have responsibilities because they have the dignity to care about their actions. They’d socially alienate assholes and then in turn make freedom valuable and not something to be taken for granted. Their freedom then requires effort and is not free. Screw the war department and the pentagon. We don’t need a war to remind us of anything.
Bring us back to the village concept and grassroots design and we’ll all be anarchists.
Let us be anarchists and suddenly it’s harder to put a price on things.
There are few things I regret in life, and even then it’s shit like not tipping a guy enough or feeling like a jerk for being too sick with bronchitis to help a lady with her stroller on the stairs. I try so hard to be just to others, so that their living experience is better because of me. Note here how selfish my actions are because I do it so I feel warm and fuzzy inside. In the mean time though, while I’m trying to feel good, I often take emotional blows to my emotional gut, chest, and sometimes kidneys. My compassion is often so intense I cry, I cringe, and I’m glad I don’t have my Gat.
As for my violent side, I think while riding on a plane, during the take-offs and landings, I imagine the craft skidding and crashing into a building. I don’t know why. This year I was disappointed that nothing blew up on New Years. While standing in my apartment in the city, I sometimes anxiously prepare, for no reason at all, for a stray bullet to rip though my windows and loge itself into something I hold dear. And I have to stop myself from feeling invincible when I walk down the bandito-laden street at night.
I suppose that on a personal level, these superhero feelings and imaginary situations make up for my shortcomings emotionally. I’m not ready yet for love and support. I’m not quite prepared to lay my entire being into the hands of some guy. I always declared that I’ve avoided dating someone in order to prep for the day I am ready. But what the hell is “ready”? I realized recently, that there is no such thing as ready and that when and if something good comes along, I’ll fuck it all up.
I feel very sorry for my next boyfriend, if I ever get that far again, because I don’t come with just baggage. I also come with 3 years supply of accessories.
People conclude that it’s easier to be friends with or date someone else, other than myself, because my passion is beyond theirs. It’s high maintenance. It’s even a little “wacky”, if you will. Who can love me? Only a few. My daily nightmare is that I’ll dig someone and they’ll move on to the next new person because it’s easier. Or someone I already know and love will dump and replace me—how much a simpler person is preferred company. Strangely all these fears muster that N* Sync song in my head, “It’s Gonna Be Me,” because when I actually listened to it one day, it is the story of my life. One day, I suppose, it is gonna be me. The few who do take the time to love me get a powerful lover in return. And that will make it all worthwhile.
Until the, my life amounts to bubble gum and ear candy. Yes it does. Because I am one alone.
Whether it’s the world on my shoulders or just a personal companion, my inner battles to remedy woes of human kind which naturally surround me with plenty of people, compassion, and love, make me feel quite lonely.