"I CAN'T MOVE ON! I CAN'T MOVE ON!"

 

Barbarian Tears

When the demon inside reaches postmortem status

When the time comes to lay down your blood-soaked axes

When your war cry to the heavens is only a whimper

When your tree-trunk legs get limper and limper

Let the river of salt flow freely from your eyes

Let your inner war hammer crush Manosphere lies

Let your war-torn soul cycle through the emotions

So you don’t live day to day going through the motions

There’s nothing wrong with crying, regardless of gender

When you’ve spent so long being the strongest protector

When your deadliest attackers pass the gates of hell

When the smell of death leaves you nauseous and unwell

There’s no such thing as never-ending strength

There’s no such thing as a limited time length

When the burden you carry lives on forever

Unleash the thunderstorms and waterfall weather

The monsters and tyrants will laugh as much as they want

Even they have empty souls behind the violence they flaunt

Someday they will learn what vulnerability means

Even if their abusers never passed on those genes

Nobody leaves this life without a festering wound

That eats away at the flesh before they enter the tomb

That eats away at the mind like disease-carrying rats

The scars never get better, they only grow fat

Don’t take your pain to the other side of life

Don’t bottle the trauma that cuts like a knife

Your tears will grow the most beautiful plants

Leave behind a greener world when others can’t

You won’t be remembered as a laughing stock jester

But they’ll be remembered as angel molesters

You’ll be treated like a god for generations to come

Leave a legacy of love with your trail of blood

Why I Don't Show Vulnerability

***WHY I DON’T SHOW VULNERABILITY***

Earlier today, I had a brief conversation on Face Book with my long time beta reader and confidant Ashley. It started off with a post about how I haven’t had a full-on crying spell since the year 2007. That sentence alone is disturbing enough, but not nearly as disturbing as me using the word “record” to describe that year. I wasn’t thinking about the braggadocios connotations the word “record” has. There’s even something called the Guinness World Book of Records, where every inductee has something to brag about. I never meant to sound proud of not being able to cry, but that’s how it came out and that’s how the conversation got rolling along.

Ever since that conversation, I’ve had a lot of time to think about why it is that the “record” still stands. I’ve certainly had my fair share of reasons to cry all throughout the 2010’s. I’ve lost pets to old age, I’ve lost an uncle to a car accident, I’ve lost a grandmother to natural causes, I’ve had bad reviews for my books, there were times when I thought my career was over…and yet, my eyes remained dry through it all. You can’t mistake me for a tough guy, though. You could attribute it all to emotional numbness brought on by mental illnesses and the medications used to treat them. But the truth is, nothing about my dry eyes is that simple. I’ve got my own reasons for why I don’t show vulnerability.

When the day finally comes that I unleash the waterworks, I want it to be done in a place where nobody else is around to check on me. I don’t want to be checked on. I don’t want to be overprotected. It has nothing to do with coldness towards those people. It has everything to do with being too vulnerable in front of people who want to know more about my emotional state of mind. So I tell them what’s wrong…and they want to know more…and I tell them what’s wrong…and they want to know more…and I tell them what’s wrong…and they want to know more. The more they ask, the more triggered I become. The more triggered I become, the harder it is for me to recover. Talking things out has never worked in my favor. In fact, it only makes the triggers worse. It could be a byproduct of schizophrenia. It could be fear of embarrassment. It could be the fear of never moving on again and being stuck with spinning wheels. Who knows?

Now that I think about it, the concept of asking someone about their triggers and being relentless about it is probably the biggest influence on Tarja Rikkinen’s character work in the very first draft of Beautiful Monster. It was coincidentally what she was criticized for the most. I mistakenly thought that asking about triggers and forcing people to talk was a normal part of the therapeutic process. Nope! Turns out my instincts about making triggers worse was right all along. Then again, first draft Tarja was also the same character who believed that giving Windham the best sex of his life would erase the worst sex of his life at the hands of Shelly and Torger. Nope! That too is just tropey ignorance.

So…if feeling naked in front of people will lead to triggering bad memories and emotions…and talking about it all doesn’t help…what is the solution? You know, aside from taking pills and making life slightly more tolerable. Maybe there’s a magic ritual where a witchdoctor will reach inside my head and pull out all of the malignant parts of my mind. With nothing left to agonize over, happiness would take over and 2020 will be a much easier burden to bear. But of course, these magic rituals don’t exist. Otherwise, nobody would be emotionally damaged and witchdoctors would be richer…than they already are, along with psychics and Goop Lab “scientists”. There is no magic solution to it all. There is no conversation that can convince my mind to ease up on me. Crying privately isn’t a permanent solution either. I can listen to reason, but my mind cannot.

But then again, being an emotional time bomb for thirteen years doesn’t seem like much fun either. Maybe it’s why I get angry at little things. Maybe it’s why I get easily burned out and exhausted. Maybe it’s why I’m bored shitless more often than not. Maybe it’s why I get anxious on the rare occasions that women flirt with me. Who knows? All I know is that all of the pent up emotions have to go somewhere. Why not have them go to a place where it’s easy to control the outcome? I’ve already mentioned crying privately, but is that really the answer to it all? Is it possible to have a deep conversation without triggering every negative feeling within me? What exactly does “confronting my emotions” look like?

Heh…You know what I just realized? The title of this blog entry is called “Why I Don’t Show Vulnerability” and I just spent the last few paragraphs doing just that. By reading this, you know more about me than most people ever will. Do you want to know more? And more? And more? And more? Can it, Tarja Rikkinen. You can ask as many questions as you like, but if a topic gets too uncomfortable, you have to allow me the right to refuse to answer. This isn’t Scientology. This is life. This is living through 2020 and coming out of the other side smelling like roses. Of course, the police brutality and Corona Virus pandemic won’t allow that to happen. But I can at least try, right?

What would perpetual happiness look like for me personally? What happened before 2020 that made me feel like I could conquer the world? Well, let’s start with December 2014, where I took a vacation to San Diego, California so that I could visit Lego Land. That vacation made me so happy that I completely reinvented my mind. From that moment on, I always found the energy to do creative work, I was never bored, I actually paid attention to new music that was blasting in my ears, WWE was actually fun to watch (for me, anyways), my relationships with family and friends were cherished to the fullest extent…am I leaving anything out?

And then…February 2018 rolled along and I suddenly had what I like to call “permission to feel bad again”. I hate to keep beating the dead Millennium horse over and over again, but on the night before my Pop Evil concert, I got curious and looked up “A Room with No View” on Wikipedia. I had seen the episode back in the late 90’s when it aired and I originally thought it was about a yandere who wanted a boyfriend so badly that she used violence to keep him under lock and key. Nope! It’s worse! Turns out that yandere was a seductress who used her sexuality to brainwash high school students into becoming mediocre and ordinary versions of themselves. I originally invalidated my feelings because Millennium is a work of fiction and could never happen in the real world. But when you invalidate your own feelings…you become a thirteen-year time bomb waiting for that one day to let the waterworks flow. But hey, at least I got Beautiful Monster out of that disturbing as shit episode, so that’s a plus.

And then…2018 continued to descend into darkness. I lost three pets that year (Maggie, Sitka, and Smokey), I quit watching WWE because they put on the worst episode of Monday Night Raw in November, Reina moved out of the house to live with Susan on a boat after an intense argument with our family…and…hmm…what else happened? That’s right! The year 2019 rolled along! I adopted Emilio back in December of 2018 and he died on June of 2019, the same month has my birthday. I stopped watching Real Time with Bill Maher after he exploited Stan Lee’s death and mocked fat people. The year 2020 showed its ugly head and before all of the worldwide trauma started, my big fat cat Oswald died in February. And now…here we are. I was given permission to feel bad, I slowed down creatively, and I honestly don’t think it’s appropriate for me to try to rebuild my happiness with everything going on with George Floyd’s murder and Corona Virus.

I just now noticed that I’m rambling on in this blog entry. I forgot where my original talking points were going. So I’m just going to end it here. Truth is, I never should have referred to the year 2007 as “the record”. There are other words for it, I’m an English major, and I can make it happen. There will be a day when the floodgates open and I drench my cheeks with salty fluids. When will that day be? I don’t know. But when that day comes, I hope nobody’s around to see me at my worst. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!


***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“We used to laugh. We used to cry. We used to bow our heads and wonder why. And now you’re gone. I guess I’ll carry on and make the best of what you’ve left to me. And every day, I’d laugh the hours away just knowing you were thinking of me. And then it came that I was put to blame for every story told about me. I need you like the flower needs the rain. You know I need you. Guess I’ll start it all again. I need you like the winter needs the spring. You know I need you. I need you.”

-America singing “I Need You”-

We Need to Talk

Sorry to bother you, but we need to talk

Grab your coat and let’s go for a walk

You’re not in trouble, of that I’m sure

I swear my intentions are good and pure

But something you did upset me so

It’ll be a while before you finally know

Let the quiet tension build within you

Run the gamut of drama old and new

Anxiety weighs heavily on your soul

Head is swimming, blood runs cold

You already forgot you’re not in trouble

Let your stomach acids boil and bubble

Remember that thing you did days ago?

Remember what you said with angry flow?

It hurts when you do that, don’t do it again

I actually reconsidered us being best friends

I’ll put it behind me, no question about it

But even you are beginning to doubt it

You’re red in the face, damp in the eyes

The next word from your mouth is a cry

You hold it in, let your eyeballs ache

Let your mind circle, your heart break

We had a good talk, though you never spoke

You desperately wanted this to be a joke

You won’t accept a hug from my arms

You won’t accept my sweetest charms

When we get back home, you stew alone

Glued to your computer or smart phone

Anything to get away from the awkwardness

And the guilt and shame on top of this

Until next time when you do it again

Solitude and blankets, your only friends

Make no mistake, we needed this talk

But when I’m gone, you’ll change the lock

Tooty-Fruity

VERSE 1

The flowers, the flowers, seductive power

The rose, the rose, the purple prose

The trees, the trees, swinging in the breeze

Tooty-Fruity!

VERSE 2

The sky, the sky, enough to make you cry

The clouds, the clouds, beautiful and proud

The sun, the sun, nature’s cinnamon bun

Tooty-Fruity!

VERSE 3

Roses are red, the classics are dead

Lilacs are white, Pulitzer blight

Violets are blue, elitist culture crew

Tooty-fruity!

BRIDGE

An onion has layers and so does poetry

Peace and quiet is what you’re owing me

I’ll ply my craft in my own fucking way

Heavy metal madness is here to stay

VERSE 4

The love, the love, it’s what you shove

The tears, the tears, the least of my fears

Emotions, emotions, eyes like oceans

Tooty-Fruity!

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

MOVIE TITLE: A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

DIRECTOR: Marielle Heller

YEAR: 2019

GENRE: Drama

RATING: PG for violence

GRADE: Extra Credit

After watching this movie and having sore eyeballs as a result, I can say with a hundred percent conviction that the story is completely devoid of Mary-Sues and Gary-Stus. On the contrary, imperfections can be found among every character, including Mr. Fred Rogers himself. He may be a kind and gentle soul in public as well as on TV, but even he admits that he makes mistakes every now and then. He too gets angry. He too feels sad. He too had a tumultuous childhood and married life. The only difference is, he’d rather use positivity and creative therapy as a conduit for his emotions, not violence and rage. It takes work to achieve this kind of attitude towards life. And yes, there are many bumps in the road. Tom Hanks, the actor who played Mr. Rogers, openly admitted to being terrified to play his role. He doesn’t have to be anymore, because he knocked it out of the park. He made me believe in the kindness of Mr. Rogers all over again, imperfections and all.

Lloyd Vogel, the journalist who is assigned to interview Mr. Rogers, has his own share of imperfections. He hates his father, he’s questioning himself as a parent, he’s wrapped up in his work and can’t be there for his family, and he’s stubborn about not wanting to interview a “hokey children’s show host”. To put it mildly, he’s got a lot of anger in his heart and won’t let anybody in. After many interviews with Mr. Rogers, his transformation into a loving and forgiving person becomes the basis for his character development. It’s a slow, distrustful, and heartbreaking transformation. He even shows glimpses of the father he hates so much. If you’re a big fan of character development, you’ll easily get behind Lloyd Vogel. When he cries, you cry. When he’s angry, you’re angry. When he triumphs, you’ll cheer for him. He makes awful decisions, but that doesn’t detract from him being a relatable protagonist.

You know who else has a lot of growing up to do? Jerry Vogel, Lloyd’s aforementioned jerk of a father. He mocks his son at the beginning of the movie and the two get physical over it (hence the PG rating for violence). Jerry slept around while the mother of the family was dying. He abandoned the family when they needed him the most. But it’s easy to tell that he’s a sleazebag from the minute he first appears on the screen. The rest of these revelations come naturally. But is he a redeemable character? Can he too go through a transformation and mend fences with his son? Yes, he’s a sleazebag, but if he was perfect and gallant all the time, there’d be no story and there’d be nothing to cheer for as the movie progresses. You like character development, right? You like slow transformations? You like redemption stories? Keep an eye on Jerry Vogel. Will your patience pay off? Watch the movie and find out.

As I mentioned before, my eyes got sore during the more emotional moments of this movie. None of it came across as cheesy. This was genuine emotion and nobody knew more about how to deal with our emotions than Fred Rogers himself. It takes time. It takes patience. But it’s worth it in the end. That’s what this movie means to me. That’s why this movie gets a solid five out of five stars. A perfect grade for a movie about imperfect people. It truly is a beautiful day in the neighborhood. There better be some award victories for this movie.

Pain

OPENING LINE

I’m not going to sit here and pretend it doesn’t hurt just so I can make you feel comfortable.

VERSE 1

Why should I be ashamed to talk about what’s hurting inside?

Because male genitals are supposed to be symbol of pride?

If you dig into my corners, darkness is all that you’ll find

Going to catch me like an assassin sneaking up from behind

You could get away with murder if you were in my math class

You could giggle in my ear and put your hand upon my ass

You could take away my ability to focus on the simple tasks

How many polynomials was I supposed to fucking add?

CHORUS 1

Pain! Pain! It’s never really over!

Growing up to have brand new owners!

Pain! Pain! It’s never really fair!

When you attract laughter and wicked stares!

VERSE 2

Why should I be ashamed to dump my problems onto the web?

Because all of this bullshit has somehow already been said?

So much support coming from all over the fucking world, huh?

Yet it still seems appropriate to crawl in bed and curl up

Jealousy and envy are just more feelings for the back burner

Rejection is for suckers who refuse to be fast learners

Charisma is for those who were born with the genetic code

For staying cool when life makes your head want to explode

CHORUS 2

Pain! Pain! It’s never really just!

The suffering and agony were all just a bust!

Pain! Pain! It’s never really explained!

Comes at me full force like a runaway train!

CHORUS 3

Pain! Pain! It’s not just for the weak!

It’s even for the supermen and super freaks!

Pain! Pain! It’s not just for the teens!

But every motherfucker who loves to bleed!

Pain! Pain! It’s not just for the crippled!

Spreads across the land like an earthquake ripple!

Pain! Pain! Let’s talk about our pain!

Before we become another suicide stain!

Pain! Pain! Pain! Pain!

Someplace Else

VERSE 1

Marble halls and diamond ceilings

Still yearning for those feelings

Still can’t see the beauty in the art

Still can’t find the glue for my heart

Roasted beast and potato salad

Buttered greens, I must have them

A temporary fix for my mental tricks

Back to feeling down in the sunset town

CHORUS

I’d rather be someplace else

In a different kind of hell

I’d rather be anywhere else

I need to look after myself

VERSE 2

Dancing troupe playing with fire

Balancing on the highest of wires

Still can’t find my own salvation

No matter how cultured the nation

Glass of wine that tastes so fine

Still the pain is just mine all mine

There really is no heaven on earth

Fuck every mile for what it’s worth

CHORUS

I’d rather be someplace else

In a different kind of hell

I’d rather be anywhere else

I need to look after myself

BRIDGE

Eating pills like candy

Can really come in handy

Fifty percent of the time

It’s still an uphill climb

Relaxing on the beaches

The lessons that it teaches

Money and energy spent

Just to feel internal death

VERSE 3

So far out in the galaxy

The universe is mad at me

I could make a wish on a star

To be taken away somewhere far

But wherever I go, I bring my pain

The expensive bill is always the same

I need a vacation from my broken heart

When will this new journey start?

CHORUS

I’d rather be someplace else

In a different kind of hell

I’d rather be anywhere else

I need to look after myself

Pool

Floating on my back, an out of body experience

The water’s nice and warm, nothing too serious

Just me, the sunset, and my vast imagination

A perfect way to continue my mental vacation

I could travel through the ocean of twinkling stars

Forget the noisy highway and its polluting cars

I could pretend there are hands on my shoulders

Cupping, squeezing to keep me from getting colder

A sensual soundtrack to trigger my young thoughts

The smell of herbal tea boiling on the stovetop

For one night only, I have nothing to worry about

I could stay here forever, never once getting out

The water feels good against my aching muscles

Relaxation feels good after a day’s worth of hustle

I’ll swim a few laps in my own personal ocean

Marine life and crystals recharging my emotions

Baptism in sweetness, cure all of my diseases

Walk on the surface like a modern day Jesus

Part the seas with my hydromantic powers

Give watery life to the springtime flowers

If the phone rings, then I’ll refuse to answer

I wouldn’t even rise for the necromancer

Nothing can remove me from my sparkling sea

Nothing will qualify as a true emergency

The world can wait until my stress melts away

It’s not as though I won’t wake up the next day

Forget the afterlife, because this pool is heaven

It’s been that way for all of twenty-four-seven

When I rise in the sunlit dawn of morning

I shall return despite your deaf-ears warnings

You can call it hedonism until your throat is raw

But I give zero cares about your biblical laws

Being a grown man is intolerably overrated

It’s better to live life painless and sedated

"The World According to Mister Rogers" by Fred Rogers

BOOK TITLE: The World According to Mister Rogers: Important Things to Remember

AUTHOR: Fred Rogers

YEAR: 2003

GENRE: Nonfiction

SUBGENRE: Inspirational Quotes

GRADE: Extra Credit

As the host of the longest running PBS show in history, Fred Rogers inspired entire generations of viewers with messages of love and wisdom. He didn’t have one mean bone in his body. He wasn’t judgmental. He knew that every child had importance, every child had potential, and every child was deserving of love. Love didn’t always mean being one hundred percent agreeable all the time, but it was always an unconditional feeling that every person should experience in their lifetime. Fred Rogers passed away the year this book was published, but his legacy of love is immortal and multi-generational even to this day.

One of the most important messages you can receive from this book is to know that your emotions are completely natural and shouldn’t be feared or balked at. If someone wants to smile, let them smile. If someone wants to cry, let them cry. If someone is angry, help them use their anger in a constructive way. I’ll be the first to admit that I struggle with my emotions from time to time. I belittle myself for the times I feel sad, I don’t allow myself to cry in front of others, and I don’t want to admit to anyone else what I’m feeling at that moment. Reading these quotes has helped me lower my defenses somewhat, but it’s a process that takes time as Fred Rogers will be the first to tell you. I’ll also admit that I hate watching other people cry because it makes me vicariously sad as well. That’s not from a place of discomfort. It’s from a place of love. Love is one of Mister Rogers’s most important themes.

Another important thing to remember is the effect we have on other people. Whether you do a big or small favor for someone, the feeling of gratitude is a powerful thing that will make it all worthwhile. By the same token, every hurtful thing we do to another person will be remembered as well. Be careful with your words and actions. Be a positive influence on a child’s life. We take all of these experiences when we grow up and they help us develop our adult personalities, for better or worse. Everything you do matters more than you think. It may not seem like a big deal, but to another human being, it means the world. Don’t be hateful. Don’t be bitter. Be the best possible example of yourself you can be.

And finally, another favorite part of this book is the fable Mister Rogers tells of the carpenter who refused to hire an apprentice because he won’t admit to making mistakes and therefore won’t know how to fix them when he does. Making mistakes is a natural part of the human experience, no matter how good of a person you may be. Even Mister Rogers made mistakes in his life that he ended up turning into valuable life lessons. Strength doesn’t come from perfect muscles or superhero abilities. It comes from being able to admit your weaknesses and working to make them into strengths. Egomania never did the world any good.

Everything you read in this book may seem like practical commonsense, but the truth is, these things don’t get said enough. Too many times we’ve strayed from our happiness and used our negativity to do awful things to each other. It could be a microcosmic relationship between two people or a macrocosmic political blunder heard around the world. We need Mister Rogers’s wisdom now more than ever. If everybody would pick up a copy of this book and study it until the end of time, we’d be much better off as a human race. An extra credit grade will go to this beautifully-crafted piece of nonfiction.

Everybody's Rock

The corny commercials on TV rotted Clark Hall’s brain into mush and froze his heart into an arctic glacier. The sounds of his girlfriend Sydney Farrow sobbing only a few feet away from him did nothing to bring him out of his trance. Even when Sydney took a few seconds to blow her nose or sob even louder, she couldn’t get her boyfriend’s undivided attention. She wiped away her tears with a napkin and finally asked, “Are we going to talk about this?”

“Nope,” said Clark without even thinking about his answer. Instead he just flipped through channels in a vain attempt to find something that will rejuvenate his porridge mind.

“Say something!” shrieked Sydney.

“Something.”

After one last wipe of her drenched face and smeared makeup, the pajama pants and tank top-wearing Sydney ripped the remote control out of Clark’s hand and turned the TV off. All he could do was stare her down with a frosty expression, not even a little burst of energy. With her hands animated, Sydney freaked out when she said, “Clark, why won’t you talk to me?! Just once I’d like to have a real conversation with you! For god’s sake, do something! Sing! Dance! Anything! Do anything at all!”

“Anything?”

“Yes, anything at all!”

Taking her words literally, Clark moseyed on over to the kitchen table and sprinkled salt n his own head. “There, I did something.”

Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, Sydney asked, “What the hell’s wrong with you?! Are you fucking insane?! You knew damn well what I meant! You’re taking a serious situation and ripping the piss!”

“Serious? You want to talk about seriousness? How am I supposed to take you seriously when you keep crying every damn day?! Every fucking day, it’s the same thing! More tears! More drama! More bullshit! You know why I watch so much television? Because it’s the only thing that can take me away from your horseshit!”

Holding Clark’s hand in hers, Sydney wept, “Please, stop talking like that! You’re scaring me!” In typical Clark Hall fashion, the stone cold lover dropped to his knees and rattled off in devilish tongues. Sydney finally snapped, “You’re scaring me!”

Seemingly taking this conversation seriously, Clark stood back up and gazed into his girlfriend’s damp eyes. “You’re scared, huh? That’s okay, baby girl. I’m scared too. I’m scared of where this dramatic diarrhea will take us. I’m scared of never being able to feel happy again. Your sadness is making me sad! The only difference between you and me is that I’m not allowed to cry, seeing as how I’m a man and all.”

“Nobody said you couldn’t cry, Clark!”

“Bullshit! That’s bullshit! I hear people say that shit everyday! I’m always the one who has to be the strong superman for everybody! I’m the one who has to be everybody’s rock! I remember being a kid when I rode my bike and landed on my ass! Did anybody let me cry? No! Not one fucking person! Not my dad! Not my mom! They both wanted me to be a so-called real man! Well, congratulations, fuckers! I’m a real fucking man now!”

Taking her boyfriend’s hands once again, Sydney delicately said, “You can cry in front of me if you want, Clark. I won’t judge you. I’d never judge you for something like that.”

“Yeah right! If I start sobbing, who are you going to have left for comfort? Huh? Who’s going to be there for emotional support? I don’t even know how to fall to pieces! Twenty fucking years of pissed off feelings, Sydney, and I ain’t done a damn thing with all that rage! Now what?!”

Eyebrows furrowed, teeth clenched, skin pink, and muscles tensed, Sydney’s rage boiled over when she whispered, “You want to cry? Go ahead, Clark. Do it. Do it! Cry, damn it! Show some emotion for the first time in your fucking life! Be the man I fell in love with so many years ago! The one who wrote me all that poetry! The one who didn’t give a shit what anybody else thought of him! Come on, damn it, cry! Cry!” Her last few words were punctuated with shoves to Clark’s chest.

He brushed his hand through his thick brown hair and used his Pink Floyd the Wall T-shirt to air himself out, but no tears came. Not one drop. Just clenched teeth and a pointed finger. “You can’t do this to me, Sydney. You’re not going to break me. Not tonight, not ever!”

Sydney brought Clark’s face over and planted a wet kiss on his lips, get a few teardrops on his shoulders in the process. The boyfriend’s eyes widened at the gesture while the girlfriend remained pissed off and intense. “Now cry, damn it. Cry! You have my permission even though you never needed it. Open those floodgates!”

Clark’s breathing intensified while he tried in vain to hide his face from his girlfriend. His muscles tightened, then relaxed, then tightened, then relaxed again. His face was concentrated on his black socks and teal sweatpants. Twenty years of being pissed off. Twenty years of nothingness. Twenty years of emptiness. It all resulted in a primal scream of the F-word followed by several punches to the couch cushions. It didn’t matter how hard he punched, because no amount of toughness could prepare him for what came next.

The first tear dropped on the couch pillow. Then the second. Then the third. And then they swarmed and multiplied until the emotional dam finally exploded. For the first time in Clark’s life, he felt absolution from being “everybody’s rock”. He tried hard to suck back his tears, but it was too late: the floodgates had permanently opened. “This isn’t fair,” he muttered. “This isn’t fair!”

As Clark sobbed some more, he felt Sydney’s fingernails gently scraping down his back while the softness of her other hand petted his hair like a kitty. She whispered in his ear, “Of course it’s fair, honey. Don’t fight it. Let them come.”

“How? How could I let this happen?”

“It’s okay, Clark. I love you. I always will. Scoot over, I want to lay next to you.” The two of them snuggled together on the couch sobbing silently into each other’s arms. It was as Clark prophesized: more drama. More tears. More bullshit. More awkwardness. But it felt right. It felt as though this was where the conversation was meant to go all along. Twenty years of bitterness could never have become twenty-one no matter how hard Clark tried. He didn’t remember much from that night, but only because he fell asleep on the couch shortly after, taking Sydney’s cherry kisses with him into dreamland.

By the time the butt crack of dawn came shining through the apartment window, Clark Hall was so drained that he didn’t even have the energy to open his eyes, which were still damp, salty, and fiery from the night before. The only difference was that Sydney wasn’t in his arms anymore. Clark slowly picked his head up off the pillow and saw that she was drinking coffee at the kitchen table, still in her tank top and pajama pants.

The psychologically emancipated boyfriend peeled his body off of the leather couch and stumbled towards the table to join his equally drained girlfriend. A cup of coffee was already there waiting for him. He took several sips of the sugar and cream-drenched stimulant, but still couldn’t wake up. If he spent eternity on that couch, it would be alright with him.

Breaking the awkward silence, Clark asked, “Did you want to talk about last night?”

“Did you?”

“No, not really,” said Clark as he stretched his arms out. “I have to be at work in an hour. All that crying drained me the fuck out.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I don’t even want to go today, but it is what it is. Maybe we can talk about this tomorrow?”

“…Yeah…tomorrow…”

The two of them absentmindedly sipped their coffee while the lessons of the previous night struggled to sink in. Would tomorrow be another dramatic spell? Would Clark spend more time in front of the TV? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. All he wanted to do was go back to sleep and maybe take a sick day. But just like with all things in life, it was back to the grind again. Just another day, just another lousy paycheck. “Tomorrow…tomorrow…I love you…tomorrow…” Clark sang in his head.

Ripping the Piss

VERSE 1

Take a beautiful song, turn it into a joke

Every loving lyric burned into smoke

The message is gone, now only bathos

The singer is dead, now only pathos

Satire has been placed in the wrong hands

Out of the control of your favorite bands

Come on, everybody, let’s point and laugh

Only later will we worry about the aftermath

CHORUS

Oh-oh-oh! Ripping the piss!

Your ignorance is far from bliss!

Oh-oh-oh! Ripping the piss!

Turn it up! Turn it up, bitch!

VERSE 2

Take a beautiful love, turn it into porn

Make them wish they were never born

Into a world where nothing is sacred

Into a world for adults who are jaded

Sex and violence, all one in the same

You’re the biggest jackass in the game

Your so-called comedy is fucking lame

Your writing staff has no fucking brains

EXTENDED CHORUS

Oh-oh-oh! Ripping the piss!

Your ignorance is far from bliss!

Oh-oh-oh! Ripping the piss!

Turn it up! Turn it up, bitch!

Oh-oh-oh! Ripping the piss!

Motherfucking swing and a miss!

Oh-oh-oh! Ripping the piss!

I hope it’s worth all the shit!

VERSE 3

Take a beautiful woman, reduce her to tears

Take a handsome man, drown him in beers

Take a sweet little baby, laugh at his fears

Take a broken teenager, whom nobody hears

Take an elderly grandma, steal her checks

Take a dying grandpa, lethally inject

Nobody’s laughing except for you, buddy

Enjoy their trips to a grave so muddy

FINAL BRIDGE

Ripping the piss! Ripping the piss!

Covered in shit! Covered in shit!

Look what you did! Look what you did!

Taking our sorrows and ripping the piss!

Moving On

***MOVING ON***

In all this time of doing blog entries about my distant past, you’re probably wondering why nothing serious comes up. The easy answer would be because talking about such horrible things makes my schizophrenia significantly worse, and that is god’s honest truth. But there’s more to it than just having a numbed out brain. The more important reason is because anytime something bad happens to me, all I want to do is move on with my life. I don’t want to take time to process it or talk it out, because that’s precious time lost that I could have spent doing creative work.

Time didn’t wait for me back then and it won’t wait for me now. High school didn’t slow down because I was in the early stages of schizophrenia. College didn’t wait for me to glue my broken heart back together. My writing career isn’t going to be put on hold because my brain doesn’t want to shut the fuck up. I don’t believe in taking mini-vacations just so I can mentally recover from something that should have been processed within seconds. Minor bad shit doesn’t feel like much to other people, but to a schizophrenic and autistic person like me, it feels like a hailstorm of bullets. I guess that makes me a special little snowflake, but I didn’t have a choice in the matter nor do I have it now.

Don’t get me wrong, nothing bad happened as of late; I’m merely speaking in general terms. Moving on with life without delay is something I cherish even if my mind or other people don’t agree. I don’t believe in slowing down for anything and that’s where I get my strong work ethic from. If my fingers are shooting out blood like a water pistol, I write anyways. If I don’t have hands at all, I’ll still find a way to write. If my brain wants to show me Clockwork Orange flashbacks of something that happened a few weeks ago, I’ll find a way to write. If I’m suffering from sleep apnea, I’ll give myself a quick head massage and slap myself in the face until I’m wide awake.

This is why I take lazy days so personally, because it’s a squandered opportunity to do something with my life, despite the fact that I had no say in the matter. If the lazy day is somebody else’s fault, then that’s extra hatred for that person, because that person stole precious creative time from me. That’s why I chose to beat the shit out of my bullies when I was in high school, to take back what I rightfully own.

But why am I so concerned about losing precious creative time considering I’m only 32 years old and have my whole life ahead of me? Because creativity is what gives me the most pleasure in this world. I look at a chapter of Silent Warrior or a fully published copy of Occupy Wrestling and I can proudly say to myself, “I made this!” The more time I spend away from my creative vices, the angrier I become.

For future reference, if something bad happens to me and I seem irritable, don’t ask me to talk about it and don’t overprotect me. Taking all of the time needed to process the emotions is time wasted. If I allow myself to take breaks from creative life to recover from psychological bullshit, then who’s to say that I won’t take them every single time? One break piles on top of the other and then it spirals out of control to where it’s been ages since my last creative project. For me personally, I see this as complacency and I can’t allow that to happen. If I tell you I want to move on from something, I want to move on as quickly as possible. If some guy says, “Idiot” to me under my breath, I don’t want to take more than a few seconds to process it. That’s the way brains should work. They should be tough and durable. But mine isn’t. It can be if I rush through processing it.

Thanks for reading this and understanding why I don’t talk about bad shit. The bad shit I do talk about is so far in the past that it doesn’t matter anymore. Either that, or I’m talking about it in a purely satirical and humorous way. My blog post a few weeks ago about The Thunder Eagles? That’s a funny memory to me, because I’m laughing at what a sore loser I used to be. Beating the shit out of other players because I lost? Come on, that’s self-depreciative comic gold! The heavier stuff will never make it onto my blog, because when people see that, they can’t stop talking to me about it, which results in overprotection, which results in spending too much time processing something and not enough time on creative work. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Hey, you. Out there in the cold, getting lonely, getting old, can you feel me? Hey, you. Standing in the aisle with itchy feet and fading smiles, can you feel me? Hey, you. Don’t help them to bury the light. Don’t give in without a fight. Hey, you. Out there all alone, sitting naked by the phone, would you touch me? Hey, you. With your ear against the wall, waiting for someone to call out, will you touch me? Hey, you. Will you help me to carry the stone? Open your heart. I’m coming home. But it was only fantasy. The wall was too high, as you can see. No matter how he tried, he could not break free. And the worms ate into his brain. Hey, you. Out there on the road, always doing what you’re told, can you help me? Hey, you. Out there beyond the wall, breaking bubbles in the hall, can you help me? Hey, you. Don’t tell me there’s no hope at all. Together we stand, divided we fall.”

-Pink Floyd singing “Hey You”-

Bathos

VERSE 1

Whenever two people fall head over heels

You tear them apart like a canine meal

Laugh at their love and all of the above

Counter the cheese with your brand of sleaze

Ain’t nothing funny about human emotions

Not every scene needs tissues and lotion

Shut the fuck up and leave them alone

If you can’t take the heat, go the fuck home

CHORUS 1

Bathos! Bathos!

Killing the mood with crass behavior

Bathos! Bathos!

Shut your mouth or meet your maker

Bathos! Bathos!

Bathos! Bathos!

VERSE 2

Whenever some guy wants to shiver and cry

You encourage his wishes to want to die

You drain every tear from his red puffy eyes

With every sick joke about his ass and thighs

Or maybe it’s about the color of his skin

Maybe it’s about the church’s so-called sins

Maybe it’s the fact that he lost his loved ones

Maybe you’re just a giggly ass dumb fuck

CHORUS 1

Bathos! Bathos!

Killing the mood with crass behavior

Bathos! Bathos!

Shut your mouth or meet your maker

Bathos! Bathos!

Bathos! Bathos!

BRIDGE

Alternative facts, alternative right

Alternative wife, alternative white

Alternative comedy, alternative rock

Alternative reality, what a fucking crock!

VERSE 3

If this is comedy, get your ass off the stage

You’re no George Carlin, no fucking sage

If this is music, I’m deaf to your tunes

You’re like a pop star gagging on a silver spoon

If this is news, you can’t be trusted

If this is corruption, you’re goddamn busted

If this is satire, you’re a goddamn liar

If this is your stage, let’s set it on fire

CHORUS 2

Bathos! Bathos!

See you later, you disgusting hater

Bathos! Bathos!

In a while, you necrophile

Bathos! Bathos!

Bathos! Bathos!

My Feelings

***MY FEELINGS***

I got to see Jason Mewes (Jay from the View Askewniverse) perform a hilarious Q&A session the other night in Tacoma. Lots of sex jokes. Lots and lots of sex jokes. So many sex jokes that I laughed like a James Bond villain because of them (much to Jason’s delight). As much fun as I had that night and as awesome as it was to meet Jason Mewes and take pictures with him, that’s not what this journal is about (though yes, my brother and I had a great time that night).

During the car ride home, my brother James asked me a very profound question that I blew off as being asinine: “What goes through your head when you have a certain experience?” He elaborated by saying that I respond to even the most amazing things in life by saying, “It was fine” in a monotone voice. Part of his comedic rant was that I could be at the bottom of the Himalayas or having sex with a younger version of Cameron Diaz (or doing both at the same time), and all I would have to say is, “It was fine.” James then talked about the time he worked hard cooking a salmon steak with the right amount of herbs, spices, and sauces and all I said once I was done eating it was, “It was fine.”

There are many reasons why I don’t talk about my true feelings. One reason could be that it’s a male thing and since I have a penis and two testicles, I fall under that category. The other reason is that talking about my feelings leaves me exposed to whoever I’m talking to. Sure, I could just give James the proper critique for something as simple as a salmon steak, but even that moment of positivity could open the door for him or other people to ask about the darker parts of my emotions.

Talking about the darker side of my emotions isn’t easy for me because, as a schizophrenic, I have to relive those moments again and feel like shit afterwards. Living with my mom’s ex-boyfriend Art, getting bullied in high school, and being lonely at Western Washington University are all off-limits topics for me. The less I talk about dark emotions, the better I will feel mentally.

For the sake of this journal, I will talk about an emotional experience I had that was more than just “fine” or “whatever”. Consider this your one and only invite into my mind. If you see me in real life and you want to talk about it some more, forget it. Not happening. Even now, I have butterflies in my tummy, and this is just writing about it.

In 2016, I went to see Slipknot in concert for the second time in my life. One of my favorite songs that they played that evening was “Killpop”. If you Google the lyrics, you’ll see that they contain themes of psychotic love and sexual frustration (even though the song is about something completely different).

I loved this song so much that I sang along with it in my loudest, most passionate voice possible. In that moment, I could forget all about being a sexual has-been and a 30-something virgin. In my senior year of high school, I looked like a goddamn stud muffin with my leather jacket, sunglasses, thin body, and badass haircut. I had women flirting with me from all angles and even had cyber sex (yes, I know it’s just masturbating to a computer screen, but it was still enjoyable, so shut up). And then I had schizophrenia. The disease itself made me act crazy and the medication made me gain over a hundred pounds. Goodbye sexy Garrison, hello Uncle Creepy.

It seems shallow-minded to have that be a source of pain for me, especially since people are willing to give you the worldwide disaster argument over and over again (“people in Africa have it worse than you do, there are hurricanes everywhere, blah, blah, blah”). I’ve had a taste of love and I want it again, but I’m also aware that this 300 lb. body isn’t fit for such things. Therefore, when I sang “Killpop” in my most passionate voice, I could forget all of that and give a metaphorical middle finger to anybody who doubts my likeability. Ironically, when the song was over, a sexy lady in a dress and a cowgirl hat kissed the back of my hand in approval. I never got that girl’s phone number or email address, but it was probably for the best.

There you go, folks. That’s my emotional experience. Now I’m locking the doors in my mind and you’re never getting back in. If you want to know how I’m doing today, I’m doing just “fine”. Today was actually a good day for me. The past four days have been exhausting because I was angry about mopping up my dog Maggie’s shit and piss. Today I didn’t burst into a hodgepodge of swear words and I was able to use that energy to write a short story called “Witch Hunt”, read 30 pages of “Paper Towns”, and draw a picture of Fatima Ruiz (a gangster from another short story called “How Could You?”). Imagine that: fiery anger can be tiring as hell! We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***POISON TONGUE TALES 2: THE RIGHT TO REMAIN PSYCHOTIC***

As I just told you, Witch Hunt is in the books, so now it’s time for another short story. This is another old one called “Lionize” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1.      Dargoth Destroyer, Human Barbarian

2.      Zeal Cottonwood, Zombie Giant

3.      Andrea Lovell, CEO of Lionize Corporation

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: Andrea’s corporation specializes in deadly arena combat as public entertainment. Dargoth and Zeal are in her latest pay-per-view main event after both of them went undefeated for such a long time. All combatants who work for Andrea are locked in an ironclad contract with promises of a high payday and threats of a lawsuit if they’re in violation. Dargoth, who desperately wants to get out of his contract, attempts to assassinate Miss Lovell during his match with Zeal.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

And now that we’re on the topic of Lionize, my next Dark Fantasy Warrior will actually be a fantasy-themed fighter! Imagine that! He’s Dargoth Destroyer and he’s, you guessed it, another beefy barbarian! He won’t be a Gary-Stu, though. Maybe. I’m not sure yet.

***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

REINA: What did you do productively today?

ME: Stuff.

REINA: What kind of stuff?

ME: Just stuff.

REINA: Garrison! That’s not a real answer!

ME: (Whiny groan.)

We Steal Tears

VERSE 1

Death! Death! Double, double, death!

We’re addicted to this shit like crystal meth

Tears! Tears! Triple, triple, tears!

We’ve robbed you of all your childhood years

Quit! Quit! Quadruple quitting!

You want your tears back? Who’re you kidding?

Hack! Slash! Out with all the trash!

Your whole world reduced to a pile of ash

CHORUS

We steal tears! We steal tears!

Drown your sorrow in poisonous beers!

We steal tears! We steal tears!

Capitalizing on your deep and darkest fears!

We steal tears! We steal tears!

Your final Armageddon is drawing near!

We steal everything that you hold dear!

But that ship has already sailed from its pier!

VERSE 2

Love! Love! You can’t get enough!

Breaking through the metal armor so tough

War! War! You’re begging for more!

Get your ass in battle and give me some gore

Experience points! Your currency of choice!

Let me hear some motherfucking noise

Lightning! Fire! Sorcerers for hire!

The final battle is getting down to the wire

CHORUS

We steal tears! We steal tears!

Drown your sorrow in poisonous beers!

We steal tears! We steal tears!

Capitalizing on your deep and darkest fears!

We steal tears! We steal tears!

Your final Armageddon is drawing near!

We steal everything that you hold dear!

But that ship has already sailed from its pier!

BRIDGE

It’s nothing personal, it’s only business

This is what we do with creative vision

Sell you a story of friendship and family

And a hint of magic, it’s your final fantasy

VERSE 3

Buy it fast! Supplies won’t last!

Rain down on your enemies with a fiery blast

Save the girl! Save the world!

Enough lusty drama to make your toes curl

Ride the golden bird! Spread the word!

Fly the airship through a world so absurd

We’re not responsible for your broken heart!

Or the inability to get that shit to restart

CHORUS

We steal tears! We steal tears!

Drown your sorrow in poisonous beers!

We steal tears! We steal tears!

Capitalizing on your deep and darkest fears!

We steal tears! We steal tears!

Your final Armageddon is drawing near!

We steal everything that you hold dear!

But that ship has already sailed from its pier!

"I Laughed, I Cried, I Crapped Myself" by Ashley Uzzell and Anette Suggs

BOOK TITLE: I Laughed, I Cried, I Crapped Myself: Poetry of Life
AUTHORS: Anette Suggs & Ashley Uzzell
YEAR: 2015
GENRE: Poetry
SUBGENRE: Personal
GRADE: Pass


The bond between grandmother and granddaughter has never been clearer than in this book of poetry from both authors. They shared emotions, beliefs, moments, and most importantly, they shared life together. Ms. Anette Suggs will be surely missed, but this book of poetry will keep her memory immortalized until time itself is standing still. No topic is off limits, yet the innocence of it all is maintained throughout this read.

Just like with our favorite music, it’s always nice if the poetry we read is relatable and pretty much every poem in this book speaks to our souls. When you forget who you are and need to be reminded, try “I Am”. When you’ve lost your innocence and your flower is wilting, the poem is actually titled “Innocence”. When you’re fearing for the life of your child because he or she fell on the pavement, you’ve got “Impact”.

And then there’s a poem called “Wasted Emotions”, which is about how romantic couples grow apart over time and its no less heartbreaking when the end is near. “Wasted Emotions” is special to me because Ashley Uzzell posted it in the message board of one of my own Deviant Art poems called “A Love Song to No One”, which harbors the same sorrowful feelings. I’m not sure if her poem was inspired by mine, but whatever the case, I will always clutch it to my heart. There’s something for everyone in this poetry book. All you have to do is read it all the way through, which shouldn’t be hard considering it’s less than 50 pages.

The individual poems themselves, whether written by grandmother or granddaughter, are written with a clear and concise meter that makes reading them out loud or singing them onstage a piece of cake. Not all of them have rhyming verses, but it shouldn’t matter because the poems are enjoyable and rhythmic anyways. There’s a disclaimer in the front of the book that says some of this poetry was written in the mid-1990’s, which means Ashley Uzzell was only a child, yet she writes like someone who has been doing this for a long, long time. To tell you the truth, I wish I had her and her grandmother’s skills when I was starting out writing poetry in 2004.

Anette Suggs passed away and left behind a legacy that will last forever in the hearts and minds of those who got to know her, either personally or literarily. As I write this review, Ashely Uzzell is 30 years old and still has a bright future ahead of her. I have no doubts that those many decades will be used for creating even more beauty than we’ve seen in her poetry book. I’m not saying that as her personal friend; I’m saying it as a lover of literature, which is the real reason this book gets a passing grade.

Family Support

Not everyone can be born into a family that completely supports their creative endeavors. Ivan Moody from Five Finger Death Punch regularly expects that his mother will bury him when the topic of musical careers comes up. And yet, if it wasn’t for Ivan’s mom being an oppressive jerk, we wouldn’t have songs like “The Devil’s Own” and “Remember Everything”. Ivan Moody made a fortune off of his life experiences. Not everybody does that. In fact, the stresses of life often keep artists from achieving their full potential. If a teacher insults a child’s poetry, the child may never write creatively again for fear that the horrible memory will haunt him in the middle conceiving a poem. Emotional trauma is a powerful thing, especially to a small child who has a hard enough time determining which pieces of advice are useful and which ones are bullshit. I have a message for both adults and children of all ages. Adults, if you see a piece of art you don’t like, don’t tell the artist that he sucks and should never create again. There’s always somebody else out there who will enjoy the piece of art, so your opinion isn’t the only one that matters. Hard to believe, right? And kids, if somebody tells you that you’ll never make it in a creative field, don’t listen to them. Filtering out negative messages is hard, I agree. Sometimes that message will haunt your mind relentlessly until you finally do give in. The secret is to never give in. If you’re writing something and the negativity is turning your brain to primordial soup, keep writing until you’re finished with the poem or prose. Success is the best way to prove your critics wrong. But then comes the question of what defines success. It doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll make millions of dollars and have swarms of horny women gathering at your front door. It doesn’t always work like that. Sometimes all you need to be successful is a happy attitude. If you’re genuinely happy with your work, that should be the only thing that matters. If one other person is happy with your work, that matters too. That doesn’t mean you should avoid constructive critique, because that can actually be helpful. Keep the compliments, keep the critique, but filter out the negative vibes. The secret to success is finding the right support system. It’s out there if you look hard enough. Someone out there likes you, that much I promise. Ivan Moody’s mother didn’t support him, so he found band mates and audience members that did. There is hope out there somewhere and there is life after emotional trauma.

　

***PROVERB OF THE DAY***

“You don’t stop laughing because you get old, you get old because you stop laughing.”

-Unknown-