Tuesday, May 19, 2015

My life in Nebraska

I had a life in Nebraska.

From 1974 to 1977 I lived in Omaha, went to school in Omaha and watched Omaha go by through the windows of our faded red VW Bus.

Omaha, as I remember it--from the eyes of a 4-year-old, 5-year-old, 6-year-old--was a land of extreme weather and weird textures. There was frostbite and getting locked indoors by snowdrifts. Using the oven as an additional heater. There were tornadoes and tornado warning sirens; terrifying. There were hay fields dotted with giant bales of hay, cylindrical and cubical, each evenly spaced and perfectly shaped.

And they went on forever. And ever. And ever. And ever...

My friends wrote their name in spit on our oxidized bus just before we pulled away and headed to the land o' plenty. I had no idea how lucky I was to escape.

Tuesday, May 05, 2015

Love, Augusten

"I was able to maintain a pleasant expression, but inside I was mentally throwing up on her face."

Friday, April 24, 2015

No name for this post

It's fascinating to read that the "last" Nazi has come forward and how "unusual" it is that he has admitted to what he did during the reign of AH (fame withholding).

Many things stand out as absolutely absurd, mainly that the man (coward) is 93 and "A maximum sentence of six years for the murder of 300,000!" doesn't make sense.

It's so absolutely absurd and offensive because there is no question what should happen to this man. There's no question he should be sent to prison, and a horrible horrible prison, and hopefully a Jewish criminal would be in this prison and he would be allowed to torture, humiliate and then kill with his hands (or a shank if he so wishes) this man who, yes, is deserving of something much much much worse...it's all we have.

It's the least we can do to one of the thousands of the most loathsome of all human beings. And as this man says to the press that he has been surprised that more Nazis didn't come forth to take accountability for their hate crimes x hundreds of thousands before they were to "meet their maker", the thing that seems most obvious is it doesn't matter. There is no forgiveness for what he and they did. The afterlife and whatever it may or may not hold will not be kind to such monsters. And energy is real and lasts forever and they have laid an indefensible path before themselves so wide and so long, they will never reach the end of the tunnel. There will be no light.

Give him 6 years you fools, whatever he has left, it will be even less. How is this even a question?

Sunday, January 25, 2015

Hate letter

Fuck the Carters. Fuck your whiny voices; you, the know-it-all talk-fast before others can contribute, because guess what you don't need two sides to a conversation, you know everything already. The other: a whiner who gets worse with every glass, stupid asshole sending me an accidental email filled with hateful words about my best friend, a person she never met. Terrible names—oops, how embarrassing, how humiliating, GOOD, you made that bed.

The worst manners, the ugliest mouth, the biggest waste—no contributions; no creativity. Nothing but Carter.

Fuck the Carters and their insecurities. Guess what, you have to fucking make something, give something, be good, and love, to be in my home.

Fuck the Carters and their presence at His funeral, "we're very touched by all the friends coming together." Fuck you Carters! Like it's entertainment to observe a handful of people with broken bleeding hearts spilling over their dead friend like some reality show that just scored a "natural" shot. 

"Close friends only," you fucking Carters. Fuck you Carters, you talked shit about our friend who died, you talked down to our lovely man who died, you piece of utter living shits, Carters. You positioned him to be humiliated and suffer relentlessly, burning his one last bit of sanity he had left, and you squashed it, and in a public forum. You betrayed your friend who GAVE you his time and GAVE you his gift, you fucking Carters. Telling him you were on his team, yet inviting the opposition with no warning. Salt in his biggest wound, you fucking Carters. You rubbed it in.

I'll never forgive you. I was there. I saw him crack and bleed. I held his tears.

Guess what, I hate you. "Ohhh!" Folks say, "don't say 'hate'." Well guess what, "HATE." "It'll only hurt you," Folks say. I don't think so, I think it's the truth, "Hate."

Liars, you Carters, fucking posers, Carters. Stupid lady saying horrible things of our other friend, our buddy, our dear Hollywood girl. Fuck you stupid Carters saying those things, then turning only a sweet cheek Her way. Our sweet Hollywood girl doesn't know what that fucking Carter said and I want to tell her so she can stop giving her loving heart to a two-faced liar, a despicable person who spoke openly and grotesquely about our dead friend, and her too. The best of them.

My wish is for you Carters to disappear. Poof, like smoke, like toxic black smoke, just POOF and gone. Drink the water at the Chevron Refinery; take a left at that exit please.

Stop with the time suck, the phoniness, the know-it-alls, you boring fascist fucking Carters. 

Fuck you Carters and your stupid Tevas all year 'round; you clowns with your yoga pants on a 50-year-old shrunken oblong ass. Fuck you Carters and your betrayal, fuck you Carters, you rubber-necking heartless fools, you fucks, fuck you.

It's ok to say "Hate" when that is the name, the very core of the situation of the subject of the fucking Carters.

Ok, now I feel better. Wait, wait...wait, there's more.


Thursday, January 01, 2015