Ronda Santis, I Mean, Ron DeSatan, I Mean, Ron DeSantis!

 

Reads with Rachel vs. J.M. Arlen

 

Voting red means different things in different countries, but in America, where Rachel is from, it means to vote Republican. Fuck the GOP.

Strip You

 I hereby strip you of your freedom of speech

You fucked the conversation with the hate you teach

I hereby strip you of your right to bear arms

You could take a toy pistol and maximize the harm

I hereby strip you of your right to a trial

The shit you’re accused of goes on for miles

I hereby strip you of your non-prison clothes

In exchange for a jumpsuit and depressive woes

This ain’t no funhouse, people are dying

Yet you shrug off the complaints as babies crying

This ain’t no rally, you have nothing to be proud of

Count the dead bodies, if you’re generous, round up

I hereby strip you of your power over us

You’re drunk on your Kool-Aid, time to sober up

I hereby strip you of your gaslighting techniques

None of it’s romantic, even less of it is sexy

I hereby strip you of your traumatic excuses

None of them justify your emotional abuses

I hereby strip you of your entire legacy

And your purple cushion throne and royal pedigree

This ain’t no kingdom, I won’t fight for you

And your so-called rights to fuck over the truth

This ain’t no ballgame, I won’t bat for you

I’d rather take that bat and beat you black and blue

I hereby strip you of your bigotry

Brought to you by generations of idiocy

I hereby strip you of your ignorance

Everything you love lacks innocence

What gives me the right to take it all away?

You’d do the same to me anytime any day

Freedom for all loses all of its meaning

When the power belongs to the extremist-leaning

This ain’t no safe space for your prejudice

Defeats the purpose of human etiquette

This ain’t no graveyard for your victims

But a mausoleum for a broken system

"Howl" by Allen Ginsberg

BOOK TITLE: Howl

AUTHOR: Allen Ginsberg

YEAR: 1956

GENRE: Poetry

SUBGENRE: Beat

GRADE: Mixed

It could be that I’m missing something here. It could be that my English degree wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. It could be that Allen Ginsberg is making me feel stupid. But whatever the case, when I tried to piece together the imagery in Howl, all I could say to myself was…”What?!” Sometimes the imagery made sense to me and I could carry on with my reading. Sometimes I had to read it twice or three times and even then my ability to comprehend it was sketchy. The first poem in the book starts off with, “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness.” Ordinarily that would be an awesome way to start a poem. It certainly got me going. But then reading the rest of it, I began to wonder if Allen Ginsberg himself was being destroyed by madness. He does have a creative mind, I’ll give him that. He’s so creative that only he understands what the heck he’s talking about.

But for all of the times that he made sense to me, his poetry truly spoke from the heart. It’s depressing watching great minds descend into madness. It’s depressing to watch the almighty “Moloch” take over everything you love. It’s depressing to know that your best friend is wasting away in a mental hospital while the orderlies employ draconian techniques. I know how depressing these things are because I myself am a schizophrenic. There once was a time when I thought I was going to be institutionalized against my will. I even welcomed it at one point. But if I didn’t get the help I needed when I did, I could just as easily become another statistic a la Carl Solomon (Ginsberg’s insane friend). This book was published in the 1950’s, during a time when ignorance towards mental health was rampant. I’m not so sure I could have survived that era. Thank you, Allen Ginsberg, for bringing me back to reality.

It should be noted how important this book of poetry was to the free speech movement. The sexual imagery, the violence, and the constant swearing had conservative censorship groups up in arms. Despite me not understanding most of the content, I can appreciate the battles Allen Ginsberg went through to get Howl published. Freedom of speech was always a guaranteed right in the American constitution, but it still comes under fire to this day. Luckily, we’re a lot more open-minded as a society, but if not for people like Ginsberg putting their lives on the line for free speech, we would have stayed in the dark ages for a long time. When balancing the confusing imagery with the impact the words had on mental health and the free speech movement, I’ll give this book a respectable mixed grade. It wasn’t a perfect read, but maybe I’m not high enough on the educational food chain to appreciate it to the fullest extent. This is just my opinion. You’re always allowed to have your own, because that comes with the freedom of speech deal.

Taking Criticism: Defense vs. Surrender

***TAKING CRITICISM: DEFENSE VS. SURRENDER***

Taking criticism is something all authors have to do whether it’s constructive advice from a friend or an all out assault from a complete stranger. I’ve seen my fair share of both since I got serious about writing in 2001. Developing a thick skin isn’t always easy. It’s not something ready-made or even something you’re born with. But regardless of whether you’ve got paper skin or a suit of steel armor, there comes a time in every author’s career when he has to decide: is this piece of literature worth defending or should it be surrendered to the critics? The trick here is to find a balance between defense and surrender; it can never be all or nothing.

I know this, because throughout the 2000’s when I was wild and young, I would defend everything I wrote. Everything! It didn’t matter if it was good or bad, offensive or sterile, first draft or multiple, I had a huge enough ego to believe that everything I wrote turned to gold. Whenever somebody online would tear down my walls, I built them back up ten times stronger. In my mind, because I had the first amendment on my side, I never had to apologize for anything I wrote and I was absolved of all guilt. And then December 27^th, 2009 rolled along and a small army of angry Deviant Art members logged on to tell me how ageist an essay I wrote called “Class of ‘13” was, where I absentmindedly labeled high school students a bunch of text-messaging queens. I fought valiantly against this small army, but ultimately decided ageism against the youth wasn’t worth defending, so now Class of ’13 is gone from my Deviant Art gallery. To this day, I still take issue with people who blame millennials for everything wrong with the world.

And then came the 2010’s and I found myself doing a lot more surrendering than defending. I don’t know if that 2009 experience jolted something inside me or if maturity kicked in, but it’s like my dad once said about me: I’m friends with everyone. It’s true. I value friendship and growth so much that I purposefully tiptoe around delicate issues. That’s why in 2014 when I wrote an erotic kidnapping short story called “Tainted Love”, I took it down days later when it received criticism for being sexist (even though one person said it was steamy and hot). Because I took the calm and collected approach, I found my friendships still intact and I’m still a long and strong member of the WSS, which I take a lot of pride in.

While turning the other cheek will keep you out of trouble and out of the crosshairs of angry keyboard warriors, you can’t take that attitude with everything you write. If you whitewashed the offensiveness out of everything you wrote, you’d have a whole lot of nothing in your repertoire. It’s like that Face Book meme once said: it’s better to write for yourself and have no public than write for the public and have no self. For a guy who preaches individuality and nonconformity in almost all of my poetry, I sure do curl up in the corner when the heat gets hot. That’s not a good strategy for someone who wants success in the writing industry.

I know this, because one of my novel ideas is currently on hold due to it potentially being rejected by the websites I plan on posting it on. It’s called Puberty X Piracy and it’s an urban fantasy story about a teenager who uses and distributes online porn. On one hand, I could defend this as something that’s personal to me since I like a good wank too. On the other hand, writing this novel could be grounds for termination from whatever social media sites I’m using because of its explicit themes of masturbation, actual sex, and male genital mutilation. Of course, I don’t necessarily have to post these chapters on social media, but it’d be nice to get something out there that didn’t result in catastrophe.

I said before that the key to surviving life as an author is knowing the difference between what is defensible and what needs to be surrendered. I tried defending everything in the 2000’s and it ended horribly. It’s the 2010’s and I’m surrendering everything, but there’s a good chance somebody might like the things I’m surrendering. Which one’s worse: being a dick or missing opportunities? I’d like to think that’s an easy question, but at some point, I have to start sticking up for myself. I just can’t tell the difference between when it’s necessary and when it isn’t.

A common litmus test for this debate is to gage how many people agree or disagree with the piece of literature in question, but that’s not always accurate. There are people who love the shit out of Fifty Shades of Grey and despite the hell out of Winnie the Pooh. Yes, folks, there are people who fucking hate Winnie the Pooh. And Tigger. And Piglet. There are also people who wouldn’t mind sucking on a “Christian Grey flavored popsicle”, whatever the fuck that is. Like I said: write for yourself, not the public. There are people in this world who still think the earth is flat. I may surrender a lot of my talking points, but I refuse to hand the keys of the kingdom to a bunch of flat-earthers. It’s round, motherfuckers! It’s round!

If popularity is a bad litmus test for defensiveness vs. surrender, what’s a good one? That’s a question I don’t have the answer for. I’m 32 years old and celebrating my 16^th year as a semi-professional author, yet I’m no closer to tapping into that particular piece of wisdom. I know I’m shouting into the abyss when I post these blog entries, but I’m still shouting, damn it. If any of my readers have the slightest inkling as to what the answer could be, let me know and I’ll take it into consideration. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***AMERICAN DARKNESS 3***

Until I become fully committed to Puberty X Piracy, I’m going to start working on the third installment of American Darkness a.k.a. the series of stories that once made Andy Peloquin exclaim, “DARK SHIT!” I have fifty-two story ideas in this particular volume, but all I need is fifty and I’m going to go down the list alphabetically. That means the first story to go in this book will be…slightly less dark than the others. Probably not the best way to start a book with darkness in the title, but it starts with an A, so suck it. It’s called “Adorably Clueless” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1. Billy Mann, College Librarian
2. Mia Rodriguez, Flirty Customer
3. Dottie Jackson, Billy’s Coworker

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: Billy has gone through his entire life without experiencing romance and is feeling lonely and sad because of it. One day at the college library, Billy checks out a few books to Mia, who unbeknown to him was flirting with him the entire time. When Mia walks away, Dottie giggles at Billy and calls him “adorably clueless” when it comes to his social awkwardness and inability to detect flirtation. With the college’s “Second Chance Prom” coming up in a few weeks, Billy has to get his act together if he wants to capitalize on this almost missed opportunity.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Because my next first draft book will be a collection of modern day dramas, the number of characters from the fantasy genre I have left to draw are limited to two: Debra Lynch (elf rogue) and Johnny De Morgan (human busker), both of them from the final Poison Tongue Tales 2 story “Street Sleeper”. If I really want to continue drawing these characters, I’ll have to find another source other than stories I’ve already written.

***THE CAT WHO ROBBED A BANK***

I’ve been a Lilian Jackson Braun fan since I became a born-again reader in 2009. I’ve given all of her books passing grades for their light material and cute kitties. This one will be no different, though you’re probably asking why I keep reading these “Cat Who” books if they’re so predictable. That’s basically like asking why I keep buying CD’s of a certain band if they do the same kind of music: because I fucking like them! If you like something, don’t question or pick away at it. Don’t surrender that shit to anybody with ignorant questions. See what I did there?

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do you call a blacksmith who likes butt sex?

A: Forge packer.

***POST-SCRIPT***

Just in case there’s any confusion, no, I won’t surrender that joke either.

Gyromancer

Are you a spin doctor or a gyromancer?

Both of those options are your final answer

Excusing racism and other forms of bigotry

Excusing homophobia while practicing bigamy

Excusing cop violence as the body count soars

Excusing blood oozing from minorities’ pores

As long as you have an R next to your name

You’re instantly immune to shame and blame

Justice was tailor made for the silver spoon

You’re not fooling anyone anytime soon

You wonder why we march in the streets

When the flag is flying, we take our seats

It’s Freedom of Speech, you fucking leech

It’s something you’re always proud to preach

As long as you’re the only one who uses it

Who’s triggered now? You’re the one who loses it

You call us snowflakes for doing what’s right

You’re triggered too! You’re not too bright

You don’t give a shit about liberty and freedom

You only give a shit about ruling the kingdom

Goosestep your ass back to the 1930’s

Or the 1500’s where it’s diseased and dirty

But at least your old values will be alive and well

Gyromancer, I’ll see you in hell!

Mean Businesses

It seems as though every time someone enters a job that involves celebrity status of some kind, there’s always somebody telling them that whatever they’re getting into is a “mean business”. I can understand why someone would say those words about MMA, wrestling, or any other athletic activity: there’s a lot of testosterone flying around and raging criticism is bound to happen. But why exactly would something like literature or movies be considered “mean businesses”? Let’s be honest: it doesn’t take a whole lot of hateful aggression to read a book or to watch a movie. I’ll tell you where the term “mean business” comes from. It comes from the idea that just because we live in a democratic society, it automatically grants us the right to be a verbal bully. In America, that right is documented under the first amendment of the constitution. Freedom of speech is good to have, but when the mediums we love turn into “mean businesses”, that’s when things get out of control quickly. If you need proof, just watch an episode of TMZ. They’re always getting a chuckle out of a celebrity being too fat for her bikini or saying something slightly off-color. If you need further proof, look no further than the Sunday morning newspaper, where a critic will rip a book to shreds in more ways than one. When did it become acceptable to be spiteful people? I will admit that I get caught up in the moment as well when it comes to joining the “mean business” politics. In fact, I’ve been very vocal against the Republican Party for their role in the current government shutdown going on. It’s well documented that I receive disability payments and food stamps due to my schizophrenia and autism. What everyone here may not know is that my mother works for the Environmental Protection Agency and is the biggest source of income my immediate family has. Naturally, I was furious with the Republicans, but only because lives are on the line during a government shutdown. I don’t really see how someone writing an awful book constitutes the right to be an asshole about it. I wasn’t a big fan of “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo”, but I would never under any circumstances dance on Stiegg Larsson’s grave because of it. The first amendment has way too much room for abuse. Isn’t that right, Fred Phelps? All I’m asking from the celebrity sphere is, can we all just calm the fuck down for the first time in our lives? I’m not saying you have to wear yoga pants and yell out “Namaste” every time somebody passes you on the streets. I’m just saying that killing a Twilight fan for being of the wrong side of the Jacob-Edward spectrum is a TAD bit extreme.

　

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do you call two gay Vikings?

A: Leif partners.

Rap Roots

While I didn’t say “Yo, yo, yo!” or the N-word a lot from 2005-2007, rap music was still very important to me in those times. It all began in early 2005, only a few months removed from George W. Bush’s electoral victory over John Kerry. Just when the republican junk was getting too much to bear, my brother James puts a CD in the stereo from a guy named Immortal Technique. My first Immortal Technique song was “Freedom of Speech” from the album Revolutionary, Vol. 2. When the words were flowing from his mouth like a raging river of lava and angst, I was immediately enthralled. I wanted to get the entire CD and hear more of this wise sage’s words. It didn’t stop there. I eventually started digging into the music of A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul, and Busta Rhymes as well. Just like Technique, these bands didn’t disappoint. They were my go-to rappers whenever the world became a colder place than it used to be. What do these rappers have to do with writing? Well, it’s because of these people that I started to get into poetry more often than I used to. Actually, my first poem came in the autumn of 2004, months before listening to my first Immortal Technique song. In a way, though, this first poem could be interpreted as a battle rap of sorts. I was taking a creative writing class at Olympic College and there was a student who was a huge asshole critic to the other authors. So I wrote a poem about him that insulted him, his mother, and pretty much every other family member he held dear to him. This poem, then called “Ode to Patrick”, gave me the confidence I needed to continue with the battle rap genre. Listening to Immortal Technique and other rappers gave me even more confidence to continue with poetry. I had a good base in 2004, but listening to rap music kept the ball rolling in the right direction. Ever since then, the ball rolled over my victims like a massive snowball filled with sharp crystals. But this was in 2005-2007. After that period in my life, I was strictly a heavy metal fanatic with bands like Nightwish and Soulfly assaulting my senses. I’m still a heavy metal fanatic to this day with bands like All That Remains, Disturbed, and Five Finger Death Punch doing even more for my fucked up brain. As far as the battle raps are concerned, I’ve stopped doing them since 2010, but I still write poetry of other kinds to once again keep the ball rolling. So I guess what I’m trying to say is, thank you, Immortal Technique, for fighting the good fight and standing up for the little guy. Keep putting out those records of yours, because I’ll keep buying them!

　

***SKIT TRACK OF THE DAY***

“There’s more to life than how many women you have sex with. There’s more to life than how many girls you have on the side. There’s more to life than all that stupid shit. In the end, honestly, what matters most is the love between people and how much somebody cares about you.”

-Immortal Technique’s ex-girlfriend reciting “Truth’s Razors”-