i am so mad at the good
people right now i can barely keep my fingers on the keyboard here, ok drove
around the block 210 times before could recognize the trailer i live in, but i
made it, inside w/my cats and cigarettes, ok, hush, quiet, chill, it's ok, i'm
home. safe as milk from all the good people.
webpage up and running,
thank you, that's why they gave it to me, ok if you say so:
a place for you to put
your feelings, right, ok number one i hate my computer, but you are not a good
person so i don't hate you, and i know the computer will soon be my
friend.
next:
i have a message for
the good people:
leave me alone. shove
it up your ass and leave me the fuck alone. believe me this is for your own
protection, you make me want to hurt you like daddy strangled baby kitten in
front of crying toddler who was not supposed to pee in bed and simply must be
punished for badness.
i know. you are not a
perpetrator, you're tryin to make the world a better place, it's a giving
thing, a contribution, this is all good stuff, god knows i need help, but what
you do through no fault of your own is perpetrate, and when i say uh-oh, that's
a bad area, let me tell you what i need, you say, no, no one is supposed to
need that, that's not normal, this sounds like your psychosis, normal people
shouldn't need all that.
Yo, dumfuck, you forgot
three words:
Why do you?
But that's your bad
area, huh.
Here's our fight:
bad people:
shove it up your nice
clean ass.
good people:
shove bad people under
rug. Oh wait, first get degrees in social service, put sign on door: here to
help and open for business, here comes one now, nah, too scary, shove evil bad
history under motherfucking rug. Call it help.
That doesn't make you a
bad person, you can do good work in this world, the planet is teeming with
nailbiters, help them, Oprah, John Gray, and Dr. Phil, they're on call right
now, the population they serve is your population, their clients are your
clients, now you can help me too, and the whole wide world, by keeping me from
turning into a mass murderer, you do this best when you leave me alone.
Your help is killing
whatever hope I have left, whatever innocence, wonder, motivation, etc that i
have no choice but to put into your hands is destroyed by lies and evasions
which fuck up my cognition, the constant denial that what happened to me
matters, is still going on, and probably will for the rest of my life, in your
face, my face, internally (oh yes) and sometimes externally (not here) but the
worst mindfuck of all is the fear of fear, this is something you wear all too
well.
Your feelings matter
more to me than they do to you, i want to protect your feelings but i can't
accomodate the insult. You're so wrapped up in your self-image as good helper,
you can't admit to yourself that some human misery sickens you beyond your
capacity therefore in your eyes that never happened, and if it did it does not
count, matter, continue, bear looking into, etc.
Argue with me, thanks.
Let's say these things did happen and everything else i just said, let's say
it's all true. What would that mean to you? Do you see what I'm doing here? I'm
doing your therapy, but i know you are not my mom, i know all of us are doin
our best and we're in this together.
You still here?
The nailbiters are
calling. Go make yourself useful.
Oh by the way I am in
fact being carried right now like the weak and needy woman I am, coming home
finding food on my doorstep, answering machine messages sayin have you slept,
are you takin your meds, turn off the computer and order a pizza, webasters, I
have two whole webasters who listen to me rant and rave at 4 in the morning
about html, which is a fucking deception if there ever was one, we'll get to
all that, and movies, i found a movie on the front seat of my car Van Gogh life
story, where did that come from (bad area).
Listen goddamn it,I'm
being taken care of right now, gettin nurtured and looked after by all the BAD
people, do you read me, the only people who want (you really need to want) and
are able to get it is the bad people. At
the top of the list is of course Dr. Fuckhead, who I'd strap to my back before
leaving my house, he is an actual bona-fide, pure and undiluted
shit/piss/blood/vomit/guts/bullet/knife/razor blade/blood all over the fucking
house
genuine psychiatrist
who knows what his job is all about, he unfucks my head the good people fucked
up, and you think that's bad, he's a psychopharmacologist.
Here's us, 2002--
Come on in everyone, we
have drugs for that now, the nailbiters are making us rich good chemists.
Freud's dead and
buried. He's under the rug, unresolved childhood trauma, that's a thing of the
past, a Victorian relic, our drugs are making all breeders free of the
pathology his kind addressed.
Walking nightmares.
Let's hurry up and help them. Throw them away.
nothin but troubled
think about that,
thanks