Rant Trilogy: Part II

Dude STFU Plx0rz-- Part Two: Baby, It's Just Stuff.

Alternate name: The Fight Club Vision

"This isn't life, it's just stuff. And it's become more important to you than living. Well, honey, that's just nuts."- Lester Burnham, American Beauty

Money, money, money does not make the fucking world go round. It just buys the submission of facsist bastards who think that they do. This is not the word of some fucking hippie smoking weed on a hemp blanket spewing conspiracy and religion theories. This is the opinion of just another consumer who has woken up to a lot of bullshit in the world. But that's not what this note is about. It's about the time people spend bawling over spilt milk, or more accurately, wine on a $50, 000 silk bedsheet.

OMGSTFUPLZKTHXBAI!

WTF are you doing buying a silk bedsheet? Do you have any idea how cold you will be under those? It defeats the whole fucking purpose. It's like paying for a $1000 meal that ends up being just a really expensive snow pea. Of course, this is aside the point as well, because know one that I know has been dumb enough to do that anyway.

What do we consume? Technology. We are that generation Y, living off of things we don't need, like every generation before us. We think we're better because we don't go paying for under skirts and corsets that don't do much when the clothes aren't on and in the mean-time, we're saving up everyday for a $250 mp4 player that will kill your eyes if you watch a movie on it anyway. And then we have to go buy glasses because we can't see. And the glasses need a new prescription every 6 months. And you have to buy a cleaner from the pharmacy to make sure everything works right. OMG WTH! It never ends. I'm not here to tell you to stop consuming, Gawd, no. I love technology. Just like every other zombieteen.

But stop dying whenever someone steps on your Nike's. "I spent $200 on these shoes." What the fuck? If I spent that much money on a shoe, it better be foot-resistant (not my foot, dumbass). There must be some invisible aura around the shoe that keeps you from stepping on it. FUCK NO...at least not Nike's.

Don't diss my dirty Dickies.

And while we're on the subject of shoes, I just gotta say that Chucks do not make the man. Once again, I too am a mindless consumer and I too own a pair of black high-top Converse Chuck Taylors. BUT THAT DOES NOT MAKE ME FUCKING HARDCORE! Neither you. Neither do my dirty khaki Dickies boots or my studded bands. I wear them because I like them, not because they transform me into some fucking rockstar. And now we're back on the label issue, albeit on a different side of it.

"You are not your job. You are not the car you drive. You are not your stuff."

You see that totally cute pair of heels you bought yesterday? They do not make you a goddess. And although they might make you feel like one (I see no shame in that). They do not give you the right to act like one. So shut up.

Does the fact that you own a yacht in the Cayman Islands give you a right to dictate the behaviour carried on by those that you hardly know but regardless, revere you for your stuff? (still following?) NO. You have no right to tell me what i should think about the jamaican, US, fucking World Government because you have a shitload more money than I do. You cannot dictate my opinion.

Money and stuff are not your life, remember that. because in a few years you might find yourself in a studio apartment with a cat for a roomate crying over the disgusting state of the couch you own and you inability to buy a couple of pads. And at this point you might think your life is over. Uh...no. This is not your life, it is stuff. Stuff that defines far too much of our consciousness. We like it because it makes us comfortable. But it does not keep us alive.

Food, Clothing, Shelter.

The basic nessecities of human survival. Fuck clothes, go live in a nudist colony, you'd be surprised how happy you will be when naked. Food? The average human can go on for weeks on water alone. And shelter is more of a luxury that you'd think. Tarp can suffice.

And then this all circles back to the issue of reputation. I said it in part one and I'll say it again. Your real frinds don't care about the money in the bank, the Ferrari you don't own or your severe lack of an iPod. What matters is your ability to sustain a trusting relationship.


When does money matter? When you need it to survive to the best of your ability. And there's nothing wrong with being successful, or rich and loving it. Just know that the things you keep buying are only things. They won't bring back your wasted minutes. (We should have rollover for whenever we waste time...)

"Life cannot take what comes free."

Rant Trilogy: Part I

Dude, STFU Plx0rz--Part One: Rumors, Labels and Categorization.

"I'm like a struggling doctor, no patience."--Mike Shinoda

You know how it goes. Someone spread some suss and the girl who's the star of the gossip ends up writing a note about how people view her...or sorry, the guy...and everyone comes online and apologizes for assuming she's a complete pross or something(in the male's case, a pussy). This shit pisses me off. No, not the gossip. Well, the gossip too...but it's the sensitivity and assumptions that really eat at me. Maybe that's my problem, but let's consider the possibility that for once the person who's alone in their belief might be right in thinking something. Just imagine for a second that you are not absorbed in the ideas of society and you are open to what I have to say.

SHUT THE FUCK UP! I'm not trying to insult you and I am not pushing your pain aside. I'm just that little voice inside of your head who knows that any friend of yours is not going to believe some bullshit rumors about your promiscuity or imputency . As much as the other guys may laugh, how many of them care if you really bowed that girl from the party? How many of them will judge the girl because she's a slut? See them, all of those asswipes, IGNORE THEM. They don't care about you, they don't know about you and they certainly don't want to. You are defined by your opinions of yourself. By the decisions that you make, not what some dumbass who lacks enough intellect to consider that not all girls want to fuck his ugly-ass friends may think.

Your image is a lie. People hate you and you don't know it, people talk about you and you don't know them. And you know what? NO ONE CARES! You don't really care if you know who you are. Only those people who are unsure of themselves place a high regard on other peoples' demented opinions. Someone is always gonna be talking about you behind your back like you're nothing but some broken down second-rate hypocrit. Bla-bla-bla-bla-blabla. They don't matter if they really think this shit. And because they don't matter, what they think doesn't matter, which means the rumors don't matter. So you don't care. Your real friends are the ones who'll warn you of the rumors even though they know you'll say "So? Let them suck whatever they think I am."

And you rumor-passing hypocrit fucks, what kind of insecurities are you hiding if you need to pass things round like you know it's true? What kind of bitch does that? If you didn't see it yourself, giving these people the benefit of the doubt is the fair choice. Because whoever told you could just be a lying, hypocritical bastard like yourself.

But back to the matter of those who pay too much attention to opinions...I'm not gonna sit here and lie to you.

"I don't care what people say about me."

I've had days when I vented about how I supposedly fucked some dumbass I don't even know. As a matter of fact, I seem to be thte ex-something of everyone at St. George's College. These silly little boys think I don't know what they're saying about me. What they don't know is it's a matter of I DON'T CARE. You wanna tell my brother that you fingered me when he wasn't there? He's not going to believe you because he knows who I am. Anyone who hears you and really knows me (not what I appear to be in the eyes of some overly-hormonal baby boy) knows that I am not what you say. So just shut up, because no one's listening.

You spew more shit that a broke-down toilet at a ghetto McDonald's.

It's not that I don't care that my friends are hurting because of what people are saying. It's that I don't care about what the people are saying. See the difference? The addition to the first part of the equation? I care about my friends. And because I care about my friends, I know not to believe the bull. My friends feel the same about me. The problem here is that not enough feel that way about themselves.

And do not get me started on the matter of labelling people to suit your idea of life. Yes, people tend to repeat the pattern someone set before them and yes, everyone pretty much the same in terms of the human psyche. That's all fine and dandy, but it's not enough to give someone a single label. The human mind is far too complicated. So stop it. Just stop. Assholes.

"You can say what you want about me, keep talking while I'm walking away. Bitches."

[As written by me: Monday, June 16, 2008]

I was with you

That day when you cried because you thought your father was dying, that was me holding your hand.
And I was with you when you growled with jealousy because your mother didn't see you in the presence of your brother.
I was with with you when you dragged a blade across your flesh to distract yourself from your mother's screaming.
When you watched your brother shake and sweat before being carried in an ambulance with an oxygen mask, I was with you. I was there.
I remember the night you thought you would never wake up and the morning after when there was a great depression as you realised you had. I was there, I was with you.
I know how safe you felt in the mental ward of the hospital and some days you dream about living in that world...alone.
I am not God sending you a message from the skies. I am not some spirit of a passed relative. I am you, that bit of you who knows it will get better and I am with you always. The part of you that understands your detestation of human nature, but knows that life without company is empty.
That day that you curled up like a fetus in a womb, crying that he took it all and still doesn't love as much as you love him...I was there. I was in pain too, that day, but I was there.I was there when you thought you'd never be with the one you love again because your parents just don't get it. I thought you looked like a teenage movie character, but I knew you were hurting.
I was there when they took that house away. I knew how you felt because I felt it too.
I was there when that addiction to pain flared up because you didn't have good company. You had no one, really. When you were gone from public for a month because you couldn't stand being around people, I was there.
I am always with you, because you're stronger than you think. You're a pretty smart person and you know that you're getting better. But for a smart girl, you're pretty stupid sometimes. This shit doesn't happen overnight and you can't cure depression with Paxil. So stop whining and do what you have to. I'll be here.

[Posted By me on Facebook June 16, 2008; 11:11 pm]