Garrison Kelly vs. The Military a.k.a. the Cult That Nobody Should Be Pressured to Join

 

Fragile

VERSE1

Putting on the mask is too much to ask

I’ve had it on since the days of being a pawn

For ungrateful swine who do nothing but whine

I give a million percent just to pay my rent

They said I should smile even when I’m on trial

For my social crimes that I commit all the time

Just being myself gets me a ticket to hell

Earth is already like that even when I strike back

 

CHORUS

You are fragile! Fragile!

Conformists are so fragile! Fragile!

I’ll never adjust, because I cannot trust

Shock collar doctors who are somehow fathers

You are fragile! Fragile!

 

VERSE 2

Putting on a show like I’m your little ho

Kick line, comedy, needing a lobotomy

Scenes from movies where they don’t show boobies

Wouldn’t want to offend or the performance to end

Sing with a pretty voice like I ain’t got a choice

Hymns and love songs, go all night long

I crash on my bed like I’m already dead

Do it over tomorrow, not allowed to show sorrow

 

CHORUS

You are fragile! Fragile!

Conformists are so fragile! Fragile!

I’ll never adjust, because I cannot trust

Shock collar doctors who are somehow fathers

You are fragile! Fragile!

 

OUTRO

You ever wonder why I’m on medication?

I’m an overachiever, gave too much dedication

To fair weather bosses who would never hire me

Not one day on the job, yet they still like to tire me

Shaking me down for performative excitement

When I’d rather lay low, they accuse me of entitlement

Middle aged ambition is to lay down and rest

Couldn’t take another class or a scantron test

Couldn’t make another dollar while serving a burger

Couldn’t fantasize about anything but murder

They call it burnout, because there used to be flames

But my body is ashes, no more skin in the game

Maybe I’m the one who’s been fragile all along

Breaking down anyways even though I was strong

A Hairdresser vs. Garrison's Autism: You Can't Spell Hairdresser without the Letters HR

 

Adrianne Palicki from With/In vs. Michael Falk from The Onion: Just Another Day on the Job

 

Extroverted Party Hostess vs. Garrison's Autism: Forever in Search of Common Ground

 

Cat R. Scott vs. Garrison's Autism, a Common Opponent These Days

 

Calcobrena from Final Fantasy IV vs. Garrison's Autism (a Common Opponent These Days)

 

If anybody has a problem with my shirt, I can always take it off...slowly...with "Pump Up the Volume" playing in the background. Get your dollar bills ready and make that shit rain.

Angel Reese vs. Garrison's Autism: HOME RUN!

 

Mike Sempervive from F4WOnline vs. Drake Wuertz from Parts Unknown...and Let's Keep it That Way

 

Matthew Israel: Executioner, I Mean, Executive at the JRC

 

Fitness Guru

INTRO DIALOGUE

You’re not a fitness guru; you’re a eugenicist!

 

SATIRE POEM

I make my salary by burning all my calories

Showing off my ribs, telling fatphobic fibs

Juicing up my biceps, overworking triceps

Got some ten-pack abs, not pinch of flab

 

Why stop there? Let’s erase your autism

And your personality that you got with it

Sell stories about your expendability

Based on corporate greed and your disability

 

“Don’t even bother with the COVID vaccine”

Said the pin cushion who was a heroin fiend

You believe every word, just look at my face

Innocent like an angel from the “Master Race”

 

Take my advice, pay no mind to my voice

What disease do I have? It’s Dealer’s Choice

I never smoked a cigarette a day in my life

Still sounds like I wear a Columbian Necktie

 

I got more wrinkles than crumpled up paper

It started as a baby and I hoped it would taper

Started in the womb, wait, now I remember

I was totally alive then, like Jesus in December

 

Now I got a job fucking up my last name

Drag it through the mud, make it take a walk of shame

Black sheep doesn’t describe me at all

‘Cause if I lived on a farm, my voters would suck my balls

 

So next time you see me on the television

Listen loud and clear, ‘cause there is no intermission

No bathroom breaks even though I’m full of shit

Here’s my healthcare plan, it’s a total money pit

Government efficiency is kind of my jam

Effective at what? Making suckers fall for scams?

Fork over your dough as you die really slow

Make the oligarchy richer, fuck the Average Joe!

Doom in My Voice

VERSE 1

“Twinkle, smile, stay for a while

Got any plans to travel for miles?

What do you do to earn your paycheck?

What’s with the weather, like, holy heck?”

One-word answers are all I’ve got

Apathetic expression if you like it or not

Baritone voice, but there won’t be singing

This conversation has lost all meaning

 

CHORUS

“Just pray the negative away”

I don’t have a choice!

“Smiles never go to waste”

Don’t you hear the doom in my voice?!

I just don’t give a damn

If you don’t like who I am

 

VERSE 2

If smiles cost nothing, authenticity is cheaper

Fuck the weather and the weekend, dig a little deeper

How the fuck did we get on this floating rock?

I’ve got so much trauma to unpack and unlock

How do we dismantle the oligarchy?

And give a middle finger to the patriarchy?

Got no common ground, your confusion speaks volumes

Strangers ‘til the end, don’t know what else to call you

 

CHORUS

“Just pray the negative away”

I don’t have a choice!

“Smiles never go to waste”

Don’t you hear the doom in my voice?!

I just don’t give a damn

If you don’t like who I am

 

BRIDGE

Silence is golden, unlike my medals

I didn’t win at life, so I had to settle

I see your eyes darting to the left and right

Now you’re the one frowning and all uptight

My days blend together, joyless yet festive

I’m sorry if you want an inspirational message

The ones who have those are in the minority

You can only do so much under capitalist authority

 

CHORUS

“Just pray the negative away”

I don’t have a choice!

“Smiles never go to waste”

Don’t you hear the doom in my voice?!

I just don’t give a damn

If you don’t like who I am

Spoon Feed

The yellow monkeys love to do kung fu

The curtains are blue, because they set the mood

The diamonds are red, they adorn your boobs

Some food for thought that’ll put you off food

 

What’s the matter? Didn’t make a lick of sense?

You’re a fickle motherfucker, always on the fence

Do you want to be fed with a silver spoon?

A jar of Gerber, hope your tummy has room

 

I can’t make heads or tails of my own symbolism

I threw it all together, ‘cause I thought I had a vision

Come to think of it, I need to be spoon fed too

Open up the hangar for an airplane or two

 

Open wide like you’re taking a trip to the dentist

Here’s an infodump to overload your senses

Dumping is something you do with your ass

Any wonder why we’re stuck in a middle school class?

 

I hope I’ve got an out, because I’m on the spectrum

I know it could never be a shield or a weapon

When the C+ stares into my eyes like a demon

I don’t get mad or rich, I want to get even

 

It’s me and my madness against the world

Some authors wear pentagrams, some authors wear pearls

How do I stand out a cut above the rest?

Do better on the scan sheet bubble filling test

 

But that shit don’t work, they just laugh

They always remind you to forge your own path

When tax time comes, you got to do your own math

They put you through the wringer, leave you crawling with your fingers

 

I don’t expect the world to know what it’s like

To feel like a stranger at an open mic night

To feel like puking at the thought of being famous

Keep thumbing your nose, go ahead and shame us

I Left My Spoons in Kitsap County

CHORUS

I left my heart in San Francisco

I left my wallet in El Segundo

I left my spoons in Kitsap County

Goddamn, I’m all over the place

VERSE 1

I can trim your hedges, wash your dishes

Do your laundry, cook your fishes

But the minute I turn on my computer

I get back in bed to be a snoozer

They call it Spoon Theory, I believe it

My silverware drawer makes me want to sleep in

More forks and knives in my sensitive skin

Than a sewing cushion that’s covered in pins

CHORUS

I left my heart in San Francisco

I left my wallet in El Segundo

I left my spoons in Kitsap County

Goddamn, I’m all over the place

VERSE 2

Going to war inside my fucked up head

Leaves me wanting the comfort of my bed

Ain’t no peace treaty being signed today

So I take my forks and knives every which way

I went to a rock concert looking like hell

Zoning in and out, but no one could tell

Yet it feels like I’m under a magnifying glass

Eat a bag of popcorn to fatten my ass

CHORUS

I left my heart in San Francisco

I left my wallet in El Segundo

I left my spoons in Kitsap County

Goddamn, I’m all over the place

VERSE 3

I left the venue feeling like Superman

Alive with zeal just like an uber fan

But the real world smacked me in the balls

It was back to the grind and the faceplant fall

I left my spoons in Kitsap County

Every bigot and troll wants to collect my bounty

My own cutlery drawer wants to cut me to pieces

Until the day my heartbeat finally ceases

EXTENDED CHORUS

I left my heart in San Francisco

I left my wallet in El Segundo

I left my spoons in Kitsap County

Goddamn, I’m all over the place

I left my money in Seattle

I left my body somewhere in Tacoma

I left my spoons in Kitsap County

Where the fuck did they go?

My Personal Space Is Not a Free Country

CHORUS

My personal space is not a free country

Not a debate where you go headhunting

Not a democracy, not a theocracy

Not pornography with rape and sodomy

VERSE 1

I’m a working class stiff from Port Orchard

I spend my time giving out fast food orders

Don’t like what I eat? Fuck off from the heat

The kitchen’s too hot, but you act like it’s not

Raise your voice at me like a drill instructor

You get double middle fingers, you motherfucker

You’re in my zone, you don’t have free speech

Don’t whine about welfare, you’re the real leech

CHORUS

My personal space is not a free country

Not a debate where you go headhunting

Not a democracy, not a theocracy

Not pornography with rape and sodomy

VERSE 2

Autistic obsessions over trivial hobbies

They’re mine all mine, no point in sobbing

I’ll spend my time doing whatever I want

You call it a waste of time, it’s clearly not

I’m having fun without hurting anybody

I’m not your specimen to probe and study

Never once told you to stop watching football

So fuck all the way off, it’s the only good call

EXTENDED CHORUS

My personal space is not a free country

Not a debate where you go headhunting

Not a democracy, not a theocracy

Not pornography with rape and sodomy

If I hit a block button on the internet app

Don’t come at me with your bigoted crap

My personal space is not a town square

I never asked you, so I don’t really care

BRIDGE

Put your gun away, you won’t need it here

Shelve your holy book, my message is clear

Do all of that shit behind your own closed doors

Don’t treat my house like a base for the Corps

FINAL LINE

My personal space is not a free country!

Twelve Days

VERSE 1

I could’ve been a rock star who sold out arenas

I could’ve been a bigger wrestler than Rock and John Cena

I could’ve been the president of the United States

I could’ve been the one to erase all the hate

Betrayal from within kept me from reaching those heights

Too many wars with my mind, lost those fights

Too many times where anxiety took over

Now this journey seems to go nowhere

CHORUS

One day of victory and twelve days of rest

But everyone keeps telling me it’s all for the best

Everyday I rot away

Dystopia is here to stay

VERSE 2

Paper lanterns with the dimmest lights of them all

Guide my way down the never-ending hall

Forgive me if I seem to stumble and fall

Or bang my fucked up head against the wall

If this trajectory sounds way too familiar

It’s because being directionless is such a killer

So many dreams of my peers are snuffed out

Now I’m the latest whose future is in doubt

CHORUS

One day of victory and twelve days of rest

But everyone keeps telling me it’s all for the best

Everyday I rot away

Dystopia is here to stay

BRIDGE

I could’ve been the hero of everyone’s story

I could’ve spread my wings, could’ve been soaring

I could’ve been the next god the world needed

But none of it’s possible when I feel defeated

CHORUS X2

One day of victory and twelve days of rest

But everyone keeps telling me it’s all for the best

Everyday I rot away

Dystopia is here to stay

I Need a Break

This was posted in the Good Reads group "Weekly Short Story Contests and Company":

Hey, everyone. I’m sure you all have noticed last week that I wasn’t a part of the short story competition. It wasn’t solely because I didn’t want to write The Uromancer anymore (though, that’s a huge part of it). This pandemic has been terrible for my mental health. More often than not, my brain will crap out on me when I need it the most. I’ll have one day of creative work then a gazillion days after that of exhaustion. I need my brain to be at 100% if I want to get anything done. That’s why I’m about to announce that I’m taking a break from the WSS. How long will this break last? I don’t know. All I know is that if I can’t use my energy to write a halfway decent short story or poem, then I should use it to finish rewriting my fantasy novel Beautiful Monster. I only have three chapters left before round three of edits/rewrites is over. Then it’s on to round four…and five…and six…and god knows how many after those. I also want to get some reading done, watch and review a few movies, and put together Lego sets I’ve kept in boxes since Christmas. It’s not that I don’t think the WSS is important. On the contrary, most of the stories in American Darkness and Poison Tongue Tales were entries for this very group. But I’ve been putting off a lot of projects lately and I don’t always have the energy to do them on a consistent basis. Thanks for understanding.

Kentucky Fried Brain

Kentucky Fried Brain, nothing to do today

The world is just a boring place anyway

No dragons, no elves, no hidden treasure

No aliens, no lizard men, no such pleasure

No cowboys, no knights, no sorcerers

No adventures beyond these white corridors

They say a book is a best friend for life

Closer than family, closer than a wife

But how can I cross this mystical portal

When my soul is aware that it’s mortal?

I don’t have the keys to heaven’s gates

I know that a lot of you can surely relate

If that’s the case, then why the slow pace?

Why am I in last place in this human race?

Why does the back of the line feel lonely?

Why does the prison of my mind feel homely?

Why is my mattress the best place for me?

Why is the white ceiling all I can see?

Why can’t I remember any of my dreams?

Waking up has become impossible it seems

Better luck tomorrow or the day right after

Maybe I’ll wait for another New Years disaster

Maybe I’ll wait until my skin is leathery

Maybe my golden years will have more energy

Even with a bed in the retirement home?

Even when I’ve got nowhere else to roam?

You bet your sweet ass, my fellow corpse

Kentucky Fried Brain, final meal course

Heart attack city, a self-cannibal’s cost

No gravity in heaven, floating and lost

Good thing I have the patience of a saint

You know the old phrase: hurry up and wait

When one door closes, another one opens

Until that one locks and you feel hopeless

The universe doesn’t slow for one person

Even when you’re trapped in the hearses

Building My Life Around Mental Health

***BEFORE I BEGIN***

I know in the last blog entry I told you all that this current one was going to be about the Wrestling Observer Newsletter awards for 2018, particularly their Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic category. That was a lie. Truth is, I’ve pretty much accepted the fact that I’m on an island with that one, so I’m not going to write it. Spoiler alert: the big winner of that award was WWE’s business relationship with Saudi Arabia. If you followed the news around the time Jamal Khashoggi was murdered, you’ll know why this promotional tactic was pretty fucking bad. Plus, there’s that whole thing about human rights abuses and suppressing women’s freedom.

***BUILDING MY LIFE AROUND MENTAL HEALTH***

If I wanted to, I could elevate my career to newfound levels of fame. I can take certain Skillshare classes on marketing, I can hook up with the right people, I can make an Author Tube platform, I can do all of these things that any sane independent author would do. But the truth is, if I do all of those things and achieve my highest level of fame and fortune, it might come at a steep price. For years now, I’ve built my entire life around two things: staying mentally healthy and knowing when I’m too tired to carry on. Stressing myself out will derail both of those plans.

Taking good care of my mind is the biggest reason why I don’t do a lot of things normal adults should be doing. I don’t apply for fast-paced jobs, I don’t drive a car, I don’t put myself out there socially, because if I do any of these things, my mind is toast. I’ve probably talked about this subject before, so excuse me if any of this sounds familiar to you. Stress plays a huge role in how a mentally ill mind can function. Too much of it can lead to long-lasting damage. Playing it safe sounds like a cowardly strategy, but I’ve been in those stressful situations before and I don’t need another schizophrenic episode. In a way I’ve learned to fear them. I had a lot of schizophrenic episodes during my WWU days. It might have had more to do with my caffeine intake and isolation than actual schoolwork, but I’m still weary about going back to college for any reason.

I know full well that taking risks is the key to success. But what does success look like and what is it worth when the cost is paid? Does it mean being famous? If that’s the case, then it’ll mean I’ll be looked at under a microscope by the entire world. Every review and every criticism will be felt on a magnified level. Escaping fame and getting out from under the microscope is damned near impossible. One bad criticism could result in a firestorm of public shaming. If that’s what fame and fortune will lead to, then I want no part of it. I’ve been publicly shamed before and with a schizophrenic mind it hurt like a motherfucker.

But what else does success look like? Having a shit ton of money? Okay, great, but what am I going to do with all of this money? People give billionaires a hard time for not being able to spend all of their money in their lifetime and rightfully so. I don’t need things like yachts and summer mansions. I don’t need an island in the Caribbean. To be honest, I don’t really know what I’d like to spend copious amounts of money on. Travel? Great, but where to and for how long? Books and CD’s? Perfect, but I do that enough already. Donations? Again, I do that enough already. Concerts? Well, you know where this is heading.

So basically in order to be successful in my line of work, I have to sacrifice my mental health for rewards I have no idea what to do with. Maybe I can use all of my earned income to repair my mental health. I could go down to California and visit Cuddle Sanctuary for platonic spooning. I could go to Las Vegas and buy real sex. I could go on a “Secret Journey” like the Police song says and become a holy man. But wait a minute…I sacrifice my mental health just so I can have enough money to repair it. You talk about a catch-22. Holy shit!

I’m not at all saying that I’m against the idea of fame and fortune. But if I’m going to achieve it, I’m going to have to be careful and realistic about what I want and how I get it. I need to do a lot of soul-searching and a lot of online research. This isn’t something I’m going to take lightly and if I need encouragement from others, I’m going to take it. But until then, I’ll just keep chugging along and satisfying the demons in my head for yet another year. Maybe when I earn enough money, I can buy a cure for schizophrenia! Heh, we all know one doesn’t exist.

In the end, I’m not ashamed of building my life around mental illness. It gets boring sometimes, but it’s better to be bored than in constant psychological torment. At least with boredom I can relax and let my mind wander to lighthearted places instead of dark ones. Apparently, I’m not alone in thinking this. I’ve met people on the Face Book group Writing About Writing who also don’t see fame and fortune as their end game and they too struggle with mental illness. Don’t take this as a sign that I’m completely giving up. Take it as a sign that I’ll be more cautious in my climb to the top. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying…actually, this would be a good time to slow down and take a breather.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Upon a secret journey, I met a holy man. His blindness was his wisdom. I’m such a lonely man. And as the world was turning, it rolled itself in pain. This does not seem to touch you. He pointed to the rain. And on the days that followed, I listened to his words. I strained to understand him. I chased his thoughts like birds. You will see light in the darkness. You will make some sense of this. You will see joy in this sadness. You will find this love you missed. And when you’ve made your secret journey, you will be a holy man.”

-The Police singing “Secret Journey”-

***POST-SCRIPT***

On a high note, I only have one more chapter of Emilio and the Scratching Post to write and then it’s off to critiqueville. I might write it tomorrow. I might write it the day after. Or the day after. Or the day after. Either way, I’ll be thankful to see my story in yet another Hollow Hills publication. Wish me luck!

Things That Scare Me

***THINGS THAT SCARE ME***

It seems as though you can’t go anywhere on the internet without seeing inspirational memes telling you to “do what scares you”. I’m not talking about overcoming phobias like spiders and snakes. I’m not talking about watching the scene in Tales From the Hood where they stick straws up Crazy K’s nose. I’m not even talking about the idea of being flirted with by the demon chick Lucy Butler from Millennium. I’m talking about bigger fears than that. I’m talking about the little things in life that everyone else takes for granted. Since I spent most of my day zombie-walking around and watching WWE Raw, I figured I’d salvage the early dark of morning by writing a blog entry about what scares me more than having a bucket of tarantulas poured over my head. Starting with…

***MARKETING MY BOOKS***

Since I love to write so much, it should stand to reason that I’d want to commit to this career full time, which entails marketing the shit out of my books. But to hear other authors describe how much they have to do, you’d swear they were having a 24/7 root canal. I must confess that I’m only dimly aware of what marketers go through on a day-to-day basis. Being social media savvy, dealing with trolls, giving interviews, and being away from your family are only some of the responsibilities I’ve heard. At least two of those things scare me more than the rest, and I don’t even know what the other steps are. They say “treat this like a real job”. Well, I’ve had a writing job before and it lasted less than a full day. During that internet job, I was so fucking stressed out that I snapped at my family members while wrapping my head around how to write one stupid article about my Coby MP3 player. So many rules…so much shattered creativity…Is it any wonder that I went postal? What if the actual job of marketing makes me even angrier with the people I love? What if it makes me angry at total strangers? Ugh…

***SCHIZOPHRENIC ATTACKS***

Speaking of stress, have you ever wondered why I don’t write blog entries about my schizophrenia anymore? It’s because from 2015 on, I’ve been living a stress-free life. The less stress a schizophrenic has, the less likely he is to experience hallucinations. Being stress-free is important no matter what Penn & Teller say on Showtime. It’s part of the reason why schizophrenics qualify for social security. If they had stressful employment, they’d fall to pieces within seconds. It’s not about being a “snowflake”. It’s biology. It’s psychology. It’s natural fucking brain chemistry. If you feel uncomfortable at the idea of your tax dollars paying for a schizophrenic’s living expenses, maybe YOU’RE the one who needs to have your head examined. When a schizophrenic experiences hallucinations, you don’t know when those hallucinations are going away. Sometimes they go on for days. Sometimes they go on for weeks. Months. Half a year. There’s no timetable for recovery. And in case you’ve ever wondered why I write so many angry songs and stories, it’s because schizophrenics are easily irritated. I throw screaming fits whenever the phone rings or someone’s knocking at the door. Brain chemistry, people.

***LEAVING MY COMFORT ZONE***

They say the comfort zone is a beautiful place, but nothing ever grows there. So what happens when you venture outside the comfort zone and you fall on your ass? Do you still grow? Was the lesson worth the pain? Will the hallucinations come more frequently because of your colossal failure? Is coasting the answer? I asked an old college friend about this and her advice was to leave my comfort zone a little bit at a time. Don’t rush into making big decisions. Take time t think about it and edge slowly towards the outer reaches. While that sounds like great advice to a healthy-minded person, I on the other hand have no idea what slowly testing the waters would entail. Okay, so I leave my comfort zone and market my books. Then what? Do I join one new social media site at a time? Do I film one You Tube video and allow it to be complete shit? What is it? Maybe if I had a mentor to show me the way…

***TALKING TO BEAUTIFUL WOMEN***

As I write this next paragraph, I’m going to try my best not to sound like a desperate creep. That’s not who I am. In fact, the reason I stay away from women to begin with is because I DON’T like making them feel uncomfortable. Even saying hi to someone might be enough to make them turn the other way. Maybe it’s my lack of social skills. Maybe it’s my looks. Maybe it’s my economic status. But whatever it is, I’m pretty sure it’s not what women want. Having my actions rejected in a harsh manner would hurt much more than staying in the shadows and being my shy self. It might even result in a…I don’t know….schizophrenic attack! (Gasp) It’s true! I could be so embarrassed and humiliated at rejection that my hallucinations laugh at me for three months straight. Good god almighty…

***PUBLIC SPEAKING***

I mentioned shooting You Tube videos earlier in this blog. Well, that would mean having an audience. Even though the audience isn’t right there in front of me, knowing the judging eyes are watching me is frightening to me. Sometimes when I’d give presentations in school or college, I’d stumble over my words because I was too fucking nervous. Well, I think I’ve come up with a nice gimmick that will set the record straight. Before any public presentation, I will hold out my hand, place two Xanax tablets in them, say to my audience, “You’re making me do this!”, and then swallow them with Perrier. This is what it takes for me to feel comfortable around these people. It’s about time they feel the way that I feel every time I get up there. Yeah!

***CRYING IN FRONT OF PEOPLE***

If you’ve read my first draft novel Beautiful Monster or Jenna Moreci’s fully-published book The Savior’s Champion, you know how powerful of a gesture it is to be able to show weakness in front of another person. It’s a sign of trust. It’s a sign of love. But being vulnerable in front of others is yet another thing that scares me. What if after the crying spell is over they want to talk about the incident some more? What if during these new conversations…you guessed it, a schizophrenic attack happens? Talking about bad shit doesn’t make a schizophrenic feel better. It makes him feel worse. I haven’t cried since 2007. Don’t make me break my record. Please?

***BEING AROUND AGGRESSIVE PEOPLE***

When I say aggressive people, I don’t mean psychopaths who wield knives and punch people in the face. I’m talking about socially aggressive people. The loud ones. The crazy ones. The ones who invade your space and think nothing of it (even if they’re trying to be “friendly”). These people annoy me. They also scare me. I had to sit next to a drunken moron at Pain in the Grass 2016 and he fit this bill to a fault. I was secretly hoping security would arrest him for public intoxication, but I’m not aware of his fate at this moment. And then there was a guy who walked into Quizno’s bragging loudly and vulgarly about how he was going to get a sandwich with all these certain trimmings on it after a hard day of work. Shut the fuck up! Take your sandwich and fuck off! And don’t get me started on the drunken Seahawks fans I had to ride a night train with in 2008. I could have strangled every last one of them with my massive hands. Lesson of the day: be humble or fuck off!

***TRAVELING***

Ever since I took a “vacation” in 2009 to Pennsylvania, I’ve had this fear of traveling because of all the things that could go wrong. What if my airplane ride has a drunken lunatic or a loud baby onboard? What if I forget my medicine? What if I have to sit for six hours straight and have a painful ass and spine afterwards? As much as I love my international friends, there’s no way I’m getting on an airplane for god knows how long just to see them. There better be soft beds and soundproof booths on that flight or there’s no deal. Traveling wouldn’t be so bad if I could just teleport from place to place, but that’ll never happen, because we’re too busy building our own Space Force. Ugh….

***CONCLUSION***

So basically what all of these fears boil down to is that I need to take good care of my schizophrenic/autistic brain. I don’t drink caffeine. I don’t drink alcohol. I don’t do drugs. And most importantly, I don’t do stressful shit that could send me down a dark path. Is it wrong? Is it right? Does it even matter? Is coasting the answer? Am I eventually going to have to be forced into making these big decisions in my life? I could be screaming into the abyss here, but…I’m going to keep asking these questions for as long as I have to. I’m Garrison Kelly and…fuck it.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Sick and tired of living with this grief. Done with all the sorrow and the pain. Asphyxiated, can no longer breathe. Anesthetized until I’ve gone insane. So carry all this baggage when you leave. Swallow all those bitter pills you take. Blame it on the world, blame it on me. Tolerated too much of your game. A change of weather comes around too much. A sign of a deeper cut. Lying dormant on a bed of nails. Without warning, violently erupt. So bleed the molten river from my veins. Collapse upon myself, disintegrate. Shame upon the world and shame on me. Hate the player, but don’t hate the game. So condescend and patronize my lead. Persecute the innocent again. Rain down on the world and rain on me. Ticking like a bomb that’s got your name. Temperamental, unpredictable. The sky turns black when I exhale.”

-Death Angel singing “Volcanic”-