ghost-bustin, like Iím not already busy

enough around here

 

 

You people are obviously reading this wrong, my webaster knows, heís shown me the statistics, did you think I wouldnít find out?

 

People are obviously dipping in at will, starting in the middle, bouncin around, donít do that, if you canít start at the beginning and read to the end then go somewhere else, donít fuck around with my book. Last month some newsgroup respondent said trouble was one very disturbed man, calling wimmin cunts and so forth.

Nice, huh?

Thereís nowhere to go from here.

Pointless. Waste of time.

Hellhound says get used to it.

I say-

Do you guys have any idea how hard itís been keeping this narrative linear when so many posts come out of me in the wrong order?

Tuesdayís questions answered the preceding Sunday, I

canít control that, but I know whatís going on here, do you?

If you dip in at random you will disorient yourself without

cause, let me handle that- I know how to fuck up the sequence in proper chronology, itís called compensation, i.e. the story of my life, this site is meant to be an experiential device, you are supposed to experience gradual disorientation, an altered state of consciousness, itís my job as developing artist to draw you into my world (paranoia, anomie, reactive psychosis, etc) how I do that is with a technique known as suspense,

and more to the point-

why you should trust me:

I am big on a client-centered therapeutic approach

known as

accurate empathic understanding,

defined as the

ability

to

see the world through the

otherís phenomenology

as well as from perspectives of which the [reader] may be only

dimly aware.

You wanna deny this is going on?

 

No, I am not Carl Rogers and you are not my client, but youíre searching, right, and every therapist is basically a failed writer, so it works if you stretch it, how can I go on if you wonít give yourself up to my seamless command of this material, take me like a coffee break, fuckin lozenge to get rid of a sore throat, putting band-aids on cancer, you think itís easy

 

being me,

being you?

Thanx, to

no one!

 

I donít see how real writers handle wrongheaded readers breaking their balls, webaster says chill, maybe the numbers are lopsided b/c people are just returning to their favoritesóJesus, youíre not supposed to do that! Iím the manipulator, Iím the guide, the dictator, the one with the keyboard, dictate, dictation, get it?

 

Do you get it?

 

Explain please.

 

ha ha.

 

I am not brighter than you, the learning disabilities even out the gifted scores, my IQ is average: 104. Iím learning to live with it, women and their journals-thatís bullshit, a cop-out, no, making people read what they did to your id, thatís healing, what you give is what you get, I have a migraine headache, thanks for sharing.

 

You are only as sick as the secrets you keep.

 

You get well by tellin the whole sickening planet all about yourself.

Many people have quite exacting values which are meaningless and arbitrary that they canít account for, but wonít let go of.

How am I to know you are not one of these people? Feel, think, talk, yes, in that order, but do talk, write, say something, shout, sing, express yourself, ok? Do this, please, you need to be known.

Start with me, send the emails, tell me about you, Iíll keep it between us Ďtil troublewaits is ready to go interactive, thatís when we blow Dr. Bob off the fuckin internet, for now, letís get to know each other. Iíll find your gifts, the things you hide from the world, thatís the only thing I like about you, I donít like anything else about you, bring it on and you will too, promise.

 

Iím not that different from you, but I do experience the world differently from what a given situation is said to warrant, thatís it, my reactions are unusual, call it what you will, delusions of reference, whatever, fine, I could give a shit, I take nothing as it is presented, everything sucks, I want to change whatever bugs me, including myself.

 

Donít you? We are not even taught how to write a check, how can we go through 12 years of schooling and come out so fuckin unprepared for life? Fucnkindoesnít even teach us how to write a check, where are we supposed to learn how to handle a banker? A sick pet, Alzheimers, a car crash, a trauma?(Itís all trauma.) Pretend itís not, stall, sorry, I am not an ostrich, I am a person.

Individualist. What the fuck does that mean? Why is there an ďistĒ after the word ďindividualĒ?

ďISTĒ is a political-type suffix, as in communist, feminist, anarchist, capitalistÖ individualist, I live in a world where being an individual is a controversial stance?

 

Fuck you.

 

My boyfriend who, as you know, exists beyond cool, aka all my mixed up rock-n-roll fantasies fixed up in one fine genius, he knows I am intrigued by the notion of getting along somehow with a world full of wreckers, so we talk it over, he says things like, well robin, everyone has their limit, right, thatís the end of that conversation.

(Is it just me or when the teacher asks a question do you get the feeling s/he already knows the answer, and is just waiting to see if you do too? Anyone? Itís not a trick, just something theyíre trained to do, huh? Or, could be sinister character flaw that draws people together to one thing or another, in this case happens to be teaching profession, huh, anyone? Is this categorical thinking? Iím against categorical thinking, my whole cult is. Thereís somethin wrong here, if so, donít help me tho, am tryin to smarten up. Time for another spectacular auto-didactic beating? Smelling salts? Thumb screws? Anyone seen my thumb screws?

 

I know how to handle you pricks, but then I get sick, go into decline, canít get out of bed, decline, a long bad trance, lose my trajectory, lose my resiliency, standup/fall down. In public. Me? Little Miss Mystique? Halting speech, canít form words, diction comes off like mouthful of marbles, jerky limbs, coffee cup falls out of hands, talk in 4 year old tone of voice at post office, in restaurants, this is all your fault, docs say I do it to get attention, no, I needed your attention 35 years ago, this is the aftermath of your abdication, you donít see it, that makes everything worse; my not bein in charge of you, this may be the greatest disadvantage of your life on earth, but hey, where thereís breath thereís hope,

 

let me breath-a-lize your routine non-highs,

 

fresh oxygen, we stay together, you taught me, now I teach you.

Your lessons were harder to grasp than mine could ever be, and mine wonít leave you despairing, pathetic, gasping for air, this is the best thing you taught me how not to do, God works in hysterious ways, now you wanna go against God, logic, picking favorites, bypassing posts, many of which are two-parters, donít fuck up my book, heedless bastards, sorry, ok, please be civil and let it wash over you, skip along means to let it wash over you, thatís how it happens, unless you want to view madness from the outside, then do us both a favor, beautifulógo see another lame depiction on the silver screen.

 

 

Love,

trouble

 

P.S.

I could always re-title the homepage, howís this grab ya?

 

troublewaits:

Post 1.

Post 2.

Post 3.

Post 4.

Post 5.

Post 6.

Post 7.

Post 8.

Post 9.

Post 10.

Post 11.

Post 12.

etc etc ad naseum

 

Donít make me get cute, huh.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Home.

 

 

 

Copyright 2002 Robin Plan and troublewaits.com.All rights reserved.