Something about Religion- My spiel to Missionaries
Dear Those two people who knocked on my door today,
I happen to have a religion that I very much believe in, I have faith in the ancestors who lived before me, that they will keep me safe until my dying days. If there were a powerful being up there, his ears must be burning because people curse him every day, ‘Oh my Fucken G**.” But just to say it bluntly here because I can’t say it to their faces because it’ll hurt their feelings. I believe that everything has a spirit. I believe in superstition, and I believe in the supernatural. I believe in a higher force, but his name isn’t God. Most importantly, I believe that all religions are not myths but absolute in the eyes of those who believe, and that it is totally rude to tell them otherwise. And just because your faith is working out for you, it doesn’t mean it will work for other people. It’s like when people create those acne cream, nothing works for everyone but there’s one that works for a lot of people. So maybe it’s working out for you and you’re living the good life, but it’s not, and I repeat, it’s not going to work for me because no matter what you say, there will always be that awesome guardian ghost who spends his day guarding our home from other creepy shit out there. So here’s what it comes down to, I respect your faith so you shouldn’t try to get rid of mine. That is all. Good- Bye
Relatives
are so rude. discouraging. passive aggressive. and fundamentally inconsiderate. So what if I don’t have a college degree yet, and instead of finishing a two year college at the age of 17, got one at the age of 18 in a year and a half. Well fuck you too. And I know I went on a random crazy stupid left turn out of no where and took some stupid units that don’t mean shit right now, but I don’t regret that mistake because honestly, I’m not ready to graduate because the world is shitty as hell right now and I probably won’t get a job. At least I’m still going to school and not a drop out loser with no direction in life, no offense but I think I’m doing a freaking good job. So give me a break and back the fuck off cause you aint the reason why I’m trying to succeed in life.
What do I know
Of passion, of a love so great that it would haunt the memories of those who were ripped a part. How would I begin to fathom the doting of two people, the link between lovers and the realization that no matter how special the feeling, when it dies, it dies. Even though we did not love, I am just one person with one memory of a man that cannot be erased. And because we did not love, I am still yearning for something that will never happen.
Stephen King: Tax Me, for F@%&’s Sake! →
“I’ve known rich people, and why not, since I’m one of them? The majority would rather douse their dicks with lighter fluid, strike a match, and dance around singing “Disco Inferno” than pay one more cent in taxes to Uncle Sugar. It’s true that some rich folks put at least some of their tax savings into charitable contributions. My wife and I give away roughly $4 million a year to libraries, local fire departments that need updated lifesaving equipment (Jaws of Life tools are always a popular request), schools, and a scattering of organizations that underwrite the arts. Warren Buffett does the same; so does Bill Gates; so does Steven Spielberg; so do the Koch brothers; so did the late Steve Jobs. All fine as far as it goes, but it doesn’t go far enough.
What charitable 1 percenters can’t do is assume responsibility—America’s national responsibilities: the care of its sick and its poor, the education of its young, the repair of its failing infrastructure, the repayment of its staggering war debts. Charity from the rich can’t fix global warming or lower the price of gasoline by one single red penny. That kind of salvation does not come from Mark Zuckerberg or Steve Ballmer saying, “OK, I’ll write a $2 million bonus check to the IRS.” That annoying responsibility stuff comes from three words that are anathema to the Tea Partiers: United American citizenry. […]
I guess some of this mad right-wing love comes from the idea that in America, anyone can become a Rich Guy if he just works hard and saves his pennies. Mitt Romney has said, in effect, “I’m rich and I don’t apologize for it.” Nobody wants you to, Mitt. What some of us want—those who aren’t blinded by a lot of bullshit persiflage thrown up to mask the idea that rich folks want to keep their damn money—is for you to acknowledge that you couldn’t have made it in America without America. That you were fortunate enough to be born in a country where upward mobility is possible (a subject upon which Barack Obama can speak with the authority of experience), but where the channels making such upward mobility possible are being increasingly clogged. That it’s not fair to ask the middle class to assume a disproportionate amount of the tax burden. Not fair? It’s un-fucking-American is what it is. I don’t want you to apologize for being rich; I want you to acknowledge that in America, we all should have to pay our fair share. That our civics classes never taught us that being American means that—sorry, kiddies—you’re on your own. That those who have received much must be obligated to pay—not to give, not to “cut a check and shut up,” in Governor Christie’s words, but to pay—in the same proportion. That’s called stepping up and not whining about it. That’s called patriotism, a word the Tea Partiers love to throw around as long as it doesn’t cost their beloved rich folks any money.
This has to happen if America is to remain strong and true to its ideals. It’s a practical necessity and a moral imperative. Last year during the Occupy movement, the conservatives who oppose tax equality saw the first real ripples of discontent. Their response was either Marie Antoinette (“Let them eat cake”) or Ebenezer Scrooge (“Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses?”). Short-sighted, gentlemen. Very short-sighted. If this situation isn’t fairly addressed, last year’s protests will just be the beginning. Scrooge changed his tune after the ghosts visited him. Marie Antoinette, on the other hand, lost her head.
Think about it.”
Respect!
When you do something noble and beautiful and nobody noticed, do not be sad. For the sun every morning is a beautiful spectacle and yet most of the audience still sleeps.
Chameleon
The chameleon may be cold blooded, scaly and ugly but people are the real lizards. Adapters. We live like we have humanity, but we are nothing more, nothing better, nor are we as righteous as we make ourselves to be. We find a coven, a group of people we call family, feed them and fill them with sweet, sweet words of love and then when they are plump with honey and maple, we snap their necks and watch the filling ooze from their broken necks like chickens. Yes. We, we are the cold blooded torturers who hide behind sheep’s clothing. We, are the true chameleons, predators underneath blended skin, prowling for prey.
Dedication: In honor of how easily people can turn on each other. In protest against being left in the dust. In opinion of a person with high expectations who has been disappointed, for those who have loved and been forgotten. For the prey who have been hunted and left to soak in their own blood and pain. For the Chameleons who do not know the true color of their skin.
To love and be loved in return.
It is easy
For you to leave me behind, because you have no place to offer me. And the person you see me as, is a far cry from a decent human being. So why haven’t you made it clear and still, continually kicking me to the curb. I am tired. Tired of this position that has been given to me from the very first day I ever tried to be me. Will I always be pretending?
Titanic Survivors: A Breakdown by Class →
- First Class Passengers: 63% survived (200 out of 319 lived).
- Second Class Passengers: 43% survived (117 out of 269 lived).
- Third Class Passengers: 25% survived (172 out of 699 lived).
Any death, regardless of class, is a horrible and tragic thing, but on the anniversary of the Titanic’s sinking it’s important to remember one of the things that night symbolizes: that, even in moments of terrible crisis and great collective peril, we remain divided and valued by the ticket we can afford.
So true and sad
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