Middle Fingers and Peace Signs Pt. II

Some people don't want to remedy situations.

They don't want to sit down and speak their truth
listen to your response
give each other time to think and explain
build an understanding together.

To take on your shared grievances
as a psychologist or mediator or best-parent-ever
might.

No.
They have been in pain for too long.
They have been angry for too long.
They have been shut down for too long.

They do not feel you deserve that.
They do not have the energy or ability to settle with you.

They want to be mad.
They want to hate you.
They want to destroy you.
To destroy what you mean to them.

What they see in you.
What they remember.
What they identify as an enemy.

Generations of rage.
Not given what they need to thrive.
Evolved to thrive off far less,
disgusted to see
the lives of those
who might have been them

been you

had the cells collided
just a little differently
between the universe and the womb.

But then
when you try to look through the eyes of someone who hates you
and not necessarily accept or believe
but understand
why
they think and do
as they do

You see a few different things:

How arbitrary all our bullshit beliefs might be if only we had been raised differently.

How blindly people will stick to what they have a personal stake in believing is absolutely true.

Which makes total sense and is obviously natural, no hard feelings
but we can evolve in any direction we choose.

Reach out and reach in.

Question ourselves and each other to ensure our own validity. 

Not to be cruel, but to be helpful.

Suffering reaps more suffering, healing reaps more healing.

IT'S THE ONLY THING WE HAVEN'T REALLY TRIED
IN THE KNOWN HISTORY OF HUMAN KIND
PEOPLE COME ON
WAR DOESN'T BRING US PEACE
BUT PEACE MIGHT

Deliberately make an effort to adapt if confronted with a new truth.
Better truths.
Truths that are true for both me and you.

Speak to the unspoken things, because those are what we most take for granted.

For example: I am a human like you.
I'm just figuring things out.
I don't mean to sound like an expert.
I just notice these things, and I feel they're worthwhile to share.
That's kind of what I do.

I'm not trying to make money
though obviously my life would be different if I had more.
(Whose wouldn't?)
This is my life's work
it's supposed to be universal
above money or pride or hate.
Just one example out of the billions that have walked the earth
and if we all had these scientific intentions
maybe we'd solve some problems.

Again, I'm not perfect or an expert.
And I've written things I don't feel anymore.
And I've written things I've grown out of.
And I've written things I wish I'd given so much more attention
because just a couple extra sentences really would have explained it better
but at some point if you don't post it, you never will at all.

It's part of what living feels like for me.

I'm just a person
but am I just like you
or have I been taking that
for granted too?

What does living feel like for you?
Do you have an outlet, like writing, like I do?
Do you even feel compelled to have one?

I can also identify with the call to fight, the call to rise
so it's not as if
I never had an angry feeling in my life
far, far, far from it
I just don't see it helping us
as much as re-education and compassion
might.

You can be powerful
without being enraged.

But then again
people keep hurting me
and I keep being the only one saying sorry.

So maybe one of my own
arbitrary biases
could be that
sentimentality.

On the other hand
if we just fight and hurt and scare each other
what the fuck is the point?
I can understand being insulted.
Wounded. Betrayed. Disappointed. Dismissed.
I can understand not wanting to choke down your pain.
I can understand not wanting to say fucking sorry.
Not anymore.

But if we could rewind
go back to before we were so damaged
that we stopped wanting to care

if we could
re-build a world
where everyone was free

and we kept each other safe
as safe as we could

instead of this
constant
endless
unresolved
putrid
hate

wouldn't that at least be
a more enjoyable
if not better
quality of life
no matter who the fuck you are?

And the only way
to have that today
is to choose it.

Origin Stories [a quickly written poem]

Part of me
just wants to go back
to when we used to say "I love you"
and you believed in me

it's as if
by leaving
you took with you
all the faith I had in myself

not to say it was a lot
to begin with
but it was a confidence
perhaps an arrogance
(a productive one)
I can't seem to summon now

that's not to say
it was your fault
or that you should have stayed
just to preserve my sense of self

and maybe it's good
I had to question myself more
than I ever had before

but that was the last time
I felt like I was anybody

even if I wasn't happy then
I was so much happier
happy in a certain way
that I think I might never be again

that first time kind of happiness
that teaches you what happiness is

that comfortable
that eternal
that beloved
that limitless
that simultaneously intoxicating and clearifying
that freeing
kind of happiness

that you look for
everywhere you go
in everyone you meet
all the rest of your life

PTSD-ed Off

ORIGINAL POSTING: 12/9/17 12:37PM

Someone scared me today. I screamed. Tried to be a human and friendly but I was freaking out. My old housedad timewarped to the forefront of my mind. Pretty much ran away. They apologized but I couldn't look at them. I just said 'oooh, it's okaaay' and left as fast as I could.

Should have said "don't worry, it's not you so much as it's my whole life collapsing in on itself."

I feel like I keep saying the same things over and over and it takes years for anyone to listen. For it to sink in. To be understood. To be believed. And even then who says you will care?

My gram was my legal guardian. I saw her take her last breath. My mom was there. She asked if we should call an ambulance. I said no. I started doing tests on gram to see if she was breathing. I told my mom to call the ambulance. Gram died. I was nine.

Later, when I was in 5th, 6th, and 7th grade, I had a housedad who would jump out and scare me. I think he got a kick out of my reaction. He thought it was fun. I wonder now if had any idea what impact he was making.

To really understand, you'd have to know who they were to me. How they terrified me. How badly I wanted to please them. But I've talked about that plenty, too.

In college I was prescribed Effexor XR for depression, anxiety, and PTSD. I took that for almost three years before moving to Portland and dropping the pills for medicinal marijuana. It's been a bit trial and error ever since.

Now I go online and look up PTSD and I figure I'll end up reading about Hypervigilance but instead it's being called Exaggerated Startle Response and I cry but it doesn't matter and I get angry at everyone who ever thought it was funny or wanted to test me but it doesn't matter and I feel sorry for myself because I've said it over and over for years and either no one cared or no one is listening but it doesn't matter.

Now I'm too tired to come to any conclusion better than that. Maybe later.

 

6/16/25 2:24PM UPDATE:

AS IF TO PUNISH ME FOR ALREADY HAVING PTSD - THE LAST FIVE YEARS I HAVE BEEN TERRORIZED IN MY OWN APARTMENT. UP TO THE VERY MOMENT OF WRITING THIS. PEOPLE WANT TO PLAY THE SUFFERING OLYMPICS AND THEN LAUGH AT ANY PAIN YOU MIGHT ENDURE. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY LIFE.  

Middle Fingers and Peace Signs

This one goes out to all my bros:

Oh you're so cool and vulgar and filthy and risque.

So tough and cold-blooded.

Do you feel powerful?
Do you feel pain?

Throwing middle fingers with a smile on your face.

Everything's a sex joke when you just want to get laid.
Still, you make me laugh. So what's that say?

Damnit, why do I love you?

The cigarette in your mouth
while you're taking a piss.

The way you lounge back
with your arm behind your head.

The crooked joker smile.
Black heart twisted with gold.
Get a thrill from selling your soul.
God, you love being an asshole.

No feelings.
No fucks.
You calm me down.

I love you.
I can't help it.

But you're a middle finger
and I'm a peace sign.

Not that I don't enjoy
a deserved flip off
from time to time.

You'd think they'd be perfect for each other,
but you don't feel the rush, the zap,
the hair stand up on the back of your neck
when I'm just being my self.

Too nice. Too honest.
Always saying sorry.

Chain-smoking cigarettes
and talking talking talking.

Vulnerable
like a walking exposed nerve
the heart on my sleeve is endlessly bleeding
(and you don't see the strength in that)

Social Justice Warrior
Emo Kid
Grew up under a rock
College educated idiot

Half your jokes go over my head,
or I just don't think they're that funny.
They don't strike me.
Or I laugh because you're being ridiculous.
Vulgar. Risque.

It is fun to push boundaries.

But my heart is gold twisted with black.
And I hate being an asshole.
I usually just can't help it.

I prefer chaotic good.

Isn't that where we intersect?

You're going to leave me alone
and take for granted
I'll be here
if you ever wanted
or needed
to come back.

Even if it's just to leave again.

Or you really feel better off
treating me like I'm dead.

Maybe you have no plan.

Maybe you have no worry
of what might have been
had you stayed in my life.

Or what will be
without you in it.

Because you're a middle finger
and I'm a peace sign
and you went
right through me
when I should have been the one
who cut you off
but I loved you instead.

I still just don't understand
why you would have said it
so much
if you really didn't love me back.

The Thing About FASCISTs

With all that being said, this was good:
 
(LOST VIDEO)


And when I say 'they hate you'
I mean, they want you dead.
They want you gone.
Even if you're white and reading this, I would bet you're not on their side.

I'd bet you don't want that for anyone.
Murderers, maybe. And even they might better serve human kind by living out their example in a cell where they might regret what they've done for the rest of their lives.

But murderers are just what FASCISTs want to be.

I've always played devil's advocate.
I've always imagined the one exception to every rule, belief, stereotype.

Sometimes the one exception makes the whole system fold.

I've decided it's okay to hate FASCISTs.
It's okay because they are hate itself.

Their greatest wish
is that you didn't exist.

What ironic good could that do for a diverse world that is trying so damn hard to love itself? To take better care of itself?

Literally healing from the past.

To love every part and piece, every skin tone, body shape, ability, sexuality, background, identity, unique story, slice of humanity - it's antithetical to indulge a group who would destroy all the others.

In fairy tales, or the ones I was told, there's a big bad. An evil. A darkness. Always overcome by Good, but necessary to define what good even means. In older tales and traditions, we need chaos. We need night. Ying and yang. Balance.

Everyone has something worth learning about them, even if it's what not to be.

When we hate FASCISTs, we aren't hating the antisocial kid who no one knows really well or who gets mad too easily, who probably has a frustrating life and difficultly trusting people. A horror movie fan who loves gore. Someone with a fetish for vampires or BDSM or who has suicidal thoughts. We aren't hating darkness. We are hating the intent to kill. Intent to physically harm you. We are stopping murder. On both an individual and a cultural level.

Whether it's a FASCIST leader, a FASCIST bro, a FASCIST cop, a FASCIST government official, a FASCIST doctor, teacher, therapist, telemarketer, artist, whatever - we shouldn't sit back and be polite and give them time. Don't give them audience. And what was built on hate can be reformed. Look at Disney. Planned Parenthood.

Everyone breathing has to eat. They have to live somewhere. That means working. Well you better not be working any fucking job with any goddamn influence over anyone else's life.

What else can we do? Give them DNA tests? Ideally, reeducate them, right? Somehow teach them that we all belong here. Teach them a history they might have never known. But how likely is it that they'll listen? How likely they'd change? Maybe the young ones, but a die hard who has preached nothing but hate for 30 years without a shred of remorse... How else do you deal with a FASCIST? Wait for them to hurt or kill someone so we have reason to put them in jail? Killing them only puts blood on our side's hands. And a beating can easily lead to accidental death. The whole point is that nobody should be dying. Nobody should be getting beaten up.

What makes them a FASCIST is their desire to physically and systematically destroy people.

In America you're free to be anything as long as that allows everyone else to be free too.

That's how it works.

And this entire post is devoid of divide and conquer theory or thoughts on how the entire situation has been manipulated because even if that's true, it's also true that there are few things more worth living for than improving the quality of life for all the different and not-so-different people around you and potentially future generations to come.

Even if our government is an illusion, it's still important that we hate FASCISTs. That we are active in our disgust for their bullshit. That we choose to hate hate. We don't let them march easily. We drown out their chants with our own. We know we are right because we are on the side of love. We are fighting for each other. For a better life today and tomorrow for everyone. For a day when we no longer have to fight - at least not amongst ourselves. Not the ways we've fought for centuries. Not with the threat of death or pain. Not over this bullshit.

Could you imagine a world where everyone went about their days, their lives, without ever worrying if they're being treated differently because of prejudice, or if they might die just like the guy they read about in the news who had the same skin tone, or if tomorrow the elected president might take all their rights and insurances away...If we fought over game of thrones theories and favorite albums instead of skin color and who is worthy of existing...Where we didn't need to waste more time trying to convince people that privilege or FASCISTs are real issues and that they should care and fight back - because, humanity.

That would be nice, wouldn't it?

May all your fights be online and may FASCISTs never win another election. May we teach our children better - even if they live in the poorest parts of the nation. Be sure a message of diversity and understanding reaches them, often, in several different ways. Teach with every possible voice. Integrate communities and let people co-exist. May our movies be diverse. May our music be diverse. May our holidays, our fashions, our slang, be diverse. May everyone see a path to their own potential in people who are respected and celebrated by society. Our laws, inclusive and genuinely fair, if we must have them at all. And may those in power be truly on the side of the people.

Of humanity.

Quasi

Part of me still doesn't believe you're dead.
You moved to California and you didn't say goodbye.
That's all.
You're still out there somewhere living your life.
Doing what you want.

You had some kind of plan.
Some idea of a tomorrow that could have been.
Life was going to be long enough.
Shit that will never happen now.
Not in this timeline.

Of course I listen to Quasi now.
When I can't talk to you about it anymore.

God fucking damnit I miss you W.

We still might have met up.
It seemed like I was so close to seeing you.
How long had it been - six months?
When we ran into each other getting new glasses.
Texting on and off.
Figuring I would run into you again eventually.

The stories that could be told about you - you added a special spark to situations. Full of antics and factoids and jokes and ironic neuroses. You let a lot of things just be okay. Your friends loved you even when you fucked them over from time-to-time. You were that kind of person.

You make me feel better about being my weird self.
You make me want to listen to experimental music.
You make me want to be spontaneous and playful.
You make me want to live and love without regrets.

I will always be sad that you're gone.
I don't know how long it's going to take to "move on".
I don't really care.
If someone has a problem with me wishing you were still alive, they can suck it.

With that said, I know I have a lot of sadness already.
And I hold the bad memories like stones on my back.
Holding me back from being happy.
A misery.
Like how I was when I was with you. And M. And everyone else.

But as heavy as they are, I feel guilty if I let them go completely.
I feel like I'll lose some part of myself. That I already have.

Ignoring. Burying. Forgetting.

As if these things never happened.
As if these people didn't exist.
As if this life was never lived.

The same thing that kept me from being free with you
is what's keeping you alive and with me.

Is that morbid?

But you are worth remembering.

You were here for me when everyone else cut me out.

You never said goodbye.
And I never want to.

If anyone is ever going to love me, they'll just have to love you, and everyone else I carry around inside my memories, whether they realize it or not.

Giving new meaning to the living dead, I guess.
It kind of makes sense -

You helped make me,
so now I have to keep that part of you alive,
I want to keep that part of you alive,
or else part of me dies, too.

You think there's always tomorrow.

Always works out in the end.
But that's not always what happens.
Not to everybody.

My life here has become a nightmare.

Besides everything with W,

I've almost gotten evicted.

I've had my job and housing threatened.

I've found myself between two friends who are fighting.

I've spent a lot of time with people who don't really care about me, or care just enough, or who must think it's fun to fuck with me. Nothing more. 

Everyday

somebody calls me a bitch, or a cunt, or some other derogatory thing

for not selling them alcohol

for doing my job

and then I'm told hours might be cut, they might sell the store.

I'm not building a future here. 

I'm still just barely surviving.
Again.

I feel like I'm failing in every aspect.
Again.

I'm constantly on edge.
Again.

I'm surrounded by memories, little flashes, that both haunt me and comfort me with their familiarity.
I need them to know myself as much as I need to let them go in order to free myself.
I hope this is useful to have put into words for someone out there.
Maybe you've experienced the same thing, too, miles and miles away?

A lot of people outside of Portland have heard about the terrorist who slit those three men's throats, killing two, after they stood up for the Muslim women he was harassing on the Max.
At the Hollywood stop.

The stop I used everyday, twice a day, while I worked at the smoke shop.

This wasn't some part of the line I'd never been to before. 

Some part of the city I'd only seen once or twice.

I kissed people at that stop. One of them was W.

I met up with friends. I had good days and bad.

You can feel inspired that three people put their lives on the line to stand up for someone else, or you can feel horrified that there are people willing to kill you, to kill out of ignorant hatred, but both exist here.

On a personal note, last week I was in Subway and a barefoot, shirtless white man smashed in the window (apparently with the knife he dropped). The clerk got the plate numbers from his tan van as he drove away. We called the cops, but I'll probably never find out exactly why the fuck he did that. The clerk and I were the only ones in the shop and neither of us knew the guy.

There was also the woman stabbed at the Lloyd Center Max, and the DJ from CC Slaughter's who was murdered with a knife, both in random acts of violence by people they didn't know.

Not to mention the fights that have broken out just on my street alone, and a shooting.

This just within the last few weeks.

Other friends report an uptick of violence in their areas of the city as well.

I know someone from L.A. who says Portland is growing. This is normal for him. Light, even.

I have a hard time paying rent. I have a hard time maintaining healthy relationships. I have a hard time with self-control. I have a hard time at work. I have a hard time cleaning and running errands and doing simple things that people tend to judge you harshly about. I have a hard time with the noise and the crime and the potential for disaster. I have a hard time with memories and triggers and pretending I'm okay when I'm not.

I need to learn to accept the risks of being alive.

Of living a life worth remembering.

Here or anywhere else.
Otherwise, what's the point?
This shit is horrible.