Clare Easdown vs. Marcus DiPaola: The World Is Crazy Enough as It Is

 

Dacryphilia

CHORUS

You look cute when you’re crying

When you’re contemplating dying

When there’s no point in trying

When the world thinks you’re lying

Every plea for help sounds like sucking helium

In the pervert industry, it’s called dacryphilia

 

VERSE 1

The manliest men talking male suicides

Like they themselves got nothing dirty to hide

Vulnerability don’t jive well with the muscles

And the bushiest beards and the work culture hustle

Macho madness is the number one killer

Of lonely men who feel like background filler

All you have to do is reach out for help

Provided you have good insurance for health

 

CHORUS

You look cute when you’re crying

When you’re contemplating dying

When there’s no point in trying

When the world thinks you’re lying

Every plea for help sounds like sucking helium

In the pervert industry, it’s called dacryphilia

 

VERSE 2

The womanly women have permission to sob

Then get threatened and bullied by the right-wing mob

It was never about having a monopoly on tears

It was about who was better at weaponizing fears

Insecure men pull a gun or a knife

When the balance of power slides over to their wives

Or any woman with a little bit of independence

Male judges make sure the killer gets a light sentence

 

CHORUS

You look cute when you’re crying

When you’re contemplating dying

When there’s no point in trying

When the world thinks you’re lying

Every plea for help sounds like sucking helium

In the pervert industry, it’s called dacryphilia

 

VERSE 3

Do you envy the enby when they have the narrative?

Is it a blow to your ego? Are you a macho embarrassment?

Didn’t you learn in school that you had to share your toys?

Or did you dodge accountability like “boys will be boys”?

You throw all the punches and you call yourself the victim

When the ladies you decked have concussed double vision

When the other genders are too afraid to talk to the cops

Drag the world down so you can be the one on top

 

CHORUS

You look cute when you’re crying

When you’re contemplating dying

When there’s no point in trying

When the world thinks you’re lying

Every plea for help sounds like sucking helium

In the pervert industry, it’s called dacryphilia

Simone Biles: Gold Medal Magnet and Humble Pie Waitress

 

Dope vs. The News Cycle

 

The lyrics in the bottom panel are from the Dope song "Debonaire". But yeah, I can't watch political content anymore without losing my fucking mind. Even if I agree with what they're saying, it's still disaster porn. It's bad for my mental health.

Hell

VERSE 1

I see a frog-faced old man who tried to break my spirit

I see a demon-faced lover, when I said no, she didn’t hear it

I see a horse-faced soldier who laughed at all my faults

I see a zombie-faced friend who was no friend at all

 

CHORUS

I’m in hell!

I’m in hell!

I’m in hell!

I’m in hell!

 

VERSE 2

I burn inside the pit with people made of shit

I lay across the torture table with the opposite of Abel

I take a dip in the lake of fire until I break

I’m chained against the wall with nothing to do but bawl

 

CHORUS

I’m in hell!

I’m in hell!

I’m in hell!

I’m in hell!

 

BRIDGE

I pissed off the gods of schizophrenia

One too many times, hell is where I’m ending up

I’m locked in here, key dangling like a carrot

To clean my dirty laundry, I have to air it

 

VERSE 3

I fight with knives in my hands to bring the light to this land

I fight with stones in my heart, because villainy is an art

I fight with thunder in my mind, I’ll fuck up whatever I find

I fight with immortality, because I own this eternity

 

CHORUS

I’m in hell!

I’m in hell!

I’m in hell!

I’m in hell!

 

FINAL LINE

Wouldn’t skip this for the world

March Was the Drizzling Shits

…Alright, look…I’m not going to bullshit you guys. The month of March in 2024 has been absolute dogshit for me. I’m grateful to get off of Risperidone, but there’s a price to pay for doing that. I thought I’d been over the worst of it when I stopped sweating profusely and when I wasn’t boiling hot all the time. But there’s another side effect that I’m still dealing with today that I don’t talk about very often. I don’t talk about it because it’s a creepy subject. Ever since I got off Risperidone, I’ve been incredibly horny 24/7. I’ve been living in my own head thinking about these elaborate sexual and romantic fantasies while being completely disconnected from the real world. Anytime I’ve had to step outside my own “heaven” as I call it, I’ve been cranky and irritable, even if I’m doing something that’ll benefit my family like doing laundry or going grocery shopping. I was shopping at Safeway one time and I was getting frustrated that I couldn’t go home to my room and…take care of business. But “taking care of business” only keeps the horniness at bay for a short period of time. And then I’m banging on “heaven’s gates” wanting to be let back in. This has been my entire March in 2024. Three poems and a stream-of-consciousness essay came out of it, sure, but not much else beyond that. I haven’t cracked open “Elantris” since early February. I haven’t written a chapter of Rainbow Ranch since January. I haven’t written a chapter of Beautiful Monster since last year. Last! Year! I haven’t drawn a picture since February. Everything is piling up while I’m trapped in my own fucking head. Take it from me: being horny all the time isn’t the kind of fun that most incels and alpha males would make it out to be. It sucks. It absolutely fucking sucks. How much longer do I have to wait for my brain to recalibrate? Patience is not one of my virtues, in case it wasn’t abundantly clear. So if you ask me what my plans are for the day, I’ve got none. My schedule is clear, but my head is not. I’m counting down the days when this bullshit will end. Thanks for listening to me for a while. Sorry if me talking about sex makes you feel uncomfortable.

Mosquitos

You’re buzzing all around me like a mosquito

Feasting on flesh like a microwave burrito

Puking your poison over everything I love

Amythest colors drowned in shit from above

Every insult against me is a secret confession

Yet you yak your ass off like it’s your profession

If you buzz and bite for a long enough time

You buy space in my head for pennies on the dime

Just when I’m ready to stare into the void

Here come more mosquitos to keep me annoyed

There’s not enough bug spray on the planet

To make the army of bastards suddenly vanish

There’s not enough fire to match all my anger

To turn this epic war into an apocalyptic banger

I sleep for the night, no buzzing in my dreams

Then I awaken to see them swarming in teams

Being fucked up in the head is a lifelong job

No vacation days, those are only for slobs

No lunch breaks when I want to eat the rich

No free healthcare, pay for every single stitch

If fighting mental mosquitos is a real vocation

I’m the regional manager of every location

I ain’t the CEO, because I have no control

I ain’t the president, just look at the poll

I’d ask for my flowers, but the bugs like plants

Just keep kicking my ass, I’ll drop my pants

They don’t call it an insect infestation

They call it schizophrenia and call me a patient

The Schizophrenic's Creed

I am a schizophrenic

I didn’t ask to be one

I didn’t choose this life for myself

This life chose me

There are others like me who suffer as I do

But I am more than a statistic

I am a dreamer

I am a survivor

I am a warrior fighting against my past

My traumas are not my fault

I deserve better treatment from the world

Despite knowing this, my schizophrenia is still a part of me

It cannot be gaslit away

It cannot be prayed away

It is a disease just like any other

It’s no different from a fever

It’s a psychological cancer

The reason it exists is to destroy me from within

It has no other purpose

It is a curse I carry until the day I die

Hopefully, that day will come slowly

I have so much to do in this world despite my mind ghosts

I have people to love

I have art to create and consume

I have minds to change and hearts to care for

I do not know this yet and I may never know until it’s too late

But this world is a colder place without me and people like me

The world doesn’t love me, but I love the world

I’ll stay for as long as I can, even when my voices tell me lies

Amen!

American Grass-Touchers Association

When you touch the grass with your bridal gown

You too can be the Star of the County Down

But that’s miles away from the place you stay

A ticket to ride would cost your annual pay

Think globally, use your pleasant demeanor

Act locally, that’s where the grass is greener

Take Princess Puppy-Duppy to the public park

Take in the sunshine and symphony of barks

Too much drama on the information highway

Holy war on Sunday, fight night on Friday

Working your ass off, come home to a new grind

Let’s see who’s narcissistic, let’s see who whined

Pick a side, any side, just pick the right one

Reach through the screen with a loaded gun

It doesn’t work like that, you simping tankie

Your face is neon red and your ass is achy

Let’s go to the movies, have a few beers

Put some club music in our bloody ears

Blast down the road in the highest gear

Make memories that last years and years

The American Grass-Touchers Association

We’re the friends you love, the easiest vacation

Your brain will thank you, quiet down for a change

No more schizophrenic songs in a tone-deaf range

Friends are forever, your idols never knew you

Ask for an autograph, they’ll say, “Screw you!”

No one needs a pedestal five miles high

Don’t let them say otherwise, it’s a grifter’s lie

We got your back just like we got the check

We got the gasoline, ain’t no car wrecks

We got the hugs, we got endless fun

I enjoyed this night, let’s do another one

When you hit the sack, you’re still awake

Anticipating more memories you’ll make

Your phone is buzzing, let’s check the drama

Or let the sandman sing you to sleep like mama

"Reflections on Healing" by Rachel Oates

BOOK TITLE: Reflections on Healing

AUTHOR: Rachel Oates

YEAR: 2022

GENRE: Poetry and Photography

SUBGENRES: Mental Health, Feminism, and Abuse

GRADE: A

Rachel Oates has always had a complicated relationship with poetry, whether she was critiquing it on her You Tube channel or writing some of her own. But through it all, her writing skills shine brilliantly in this collection of poetry. She explores uncomfortable topics through a sensitive lens. Even when the poems don’t have happy endings, they never feel exploitative. They feel like she’s being true to herself and using her hurtful experiences to help others who are going through the same thing. In addition to helping other victims, these poems are also a middle finger to anybody who would ever beat or degrade another human being through the façade of compliments and love-bombing. Rachel Oates fancies herself a rookie in the poetry genre, but you wouldn’t know that from how expertly she handles the written word. That alone is worth an A grade.

One of my favorite poems in this book is Romb, a title which is not a typo, but a well-crafted pun. She talks about having a room to herself only for judgmental neighbors and men in suits to condescend to her and tell her how she should live in it. This is all of course a metaphor for her womb and how pro-life activists are every bit as nosy and intrusive as the people judging her room. Rachel says in one of her videos that a goal of poetry is to find innovative ways to say what the poet wants to say. She certainly lived up to her own advice in this poem and that’s a recurring theme throughout the entire book. She may be a rookie, but she’s a student first and foremost and is therefore a serial learner who takes in so much creative fuel before starting her projects. Learning doesn’t stop after graduating college. She’ll no doubt take this knowledge with her if she decides to put out another book of poetry.

Another poem I enjoyed was the much more disturbing Puppet Master, where she once again uses innovative comparisons to describe a serious topic, this time being abused by one of her now ex-boyfriends. Oh sure, the puppet master has pretty dolls and he assures you that you’re the prettiest of them all, different from the others. And through this manipulation and psychological torture, you believe these lies while becoming made of wood and strings yourself, strings that leave bruises from being tightly bound, and wood that doesn’t move until the puppet master says so. Thankfully, the poem ends on a high note of Rachel leaving her boyfriend and starting the healing process. But man, does this poem hit me where it hurts the most. While I’ve only had two romantic relationships in my whole life and neither of them were that bad in hindsight, I did have other people in my life bombard me with hate and then suck up to me with love and compliments. Rachel and I may both be atheists, but we can surely agree that there’s a special place in hell for people who gaslight and abuse their loved ones.

Of course, the other genre this book falls under is photography. She definitely has been engaging in this craft for a long period of time, judging from how professional and expressive each photo is. I especially like the one she took of downtown Southbank. Then again, cityscape photography has always been fascinating to me, whether it’s the bright lights, cool water, or beautiful colors in the sky. Honestly, Rachel could take pictures of mundane objects and it would still be considered great art by virtue of her own artistic integrity and personal lens (no pun intended). That’s the mark of a true artist: you know who made the art because their personal voice and point of view shines through in the most recognizable way possible.

This book is less than a hundred pages long, so you can breeze right by it in no time at all. But the poetry and photography will stay with you long after the reading experience is over. I will remember Rachel Oates’s work for the rest of my life, not only because of the raw vulnerability, but also because of the skill in which she executes her writing. I look forward to more publications from her, just as I always look forward to her upcoming You Tube videos. She smashes the stereotype of You Tubers being cash grabbers when it comes to publishing books. She’s serious about her craft and she will prove it to you over and over again until it stays with you forever. Noticing a theme here? Nothing less than five stars. Brilliant and heart-wrenching!

Social Media Vacation

Hey, everyone. Starting tonight, I’m going to take a two-week vacation from social media. This includes Good Reads, Deviant Art, Face Book, Twitter, and You Tube. I’m hoping this will help recalibrate me after spending so much time doom-scrolling and consuming horrible news. If it’s affecting my mental health in the way I think it is, then two weeks away will be sufficient. When I eventually return, I’m probably going to have an ass-ton of notifications on all of my sites. I won’t be able to answer them all if that’s the case. Thanks for understanding and I’ll see you again on July 18th. Until then, take care, everyone.

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

Fun Guy

VERSE 1

I dance like I’m in a pool that someone dropped a toaster in

I can’t do keg stands or I’ll throw up in the garbage bin

I can’t do the things that will make you confess your sins

To the preacher man when your Sunday morning begins

I haven’t smiled a day since the Reagan administration

I haven’t made love since computer masturbation

The only songs that play for me would bring tears to others’ eyes

And wouldn’t you know it, it’s been so long since I’ve cried

CHORUS 1

I can’t be a fun guy

When serotonin runs dry

Can’t be a party animal

When I sink like a cannonball

Can’t be a fun guy

Can’t be a fun guy

Fun guy, fun guy

Fun guy, fun guy

VERSE 2

You say you’re leaving my side because I bring you down so much

You say I’m on the edge of giving myself the finishing touch

You say you need a guy who has a million in change and isn’t so strange

You say you need a guy who doesn’t come off as sad and deranged

I say don’t let the door hit you on the ass when you leave

A half-hour friendship was a lifetime filled with being deceived

I wish you well and let me tell you one thing right before you go

My depression and rejection are less than one percent of what you know

CHORUS 1

I can’t be a fun guy

When serotonin runs dry

Can’t be a party animal

When I sink like a cannonball

Can’t be a fun guy

Can’t be a fun guy

Fun guy, fun guy

Fun guy, fun guy

BRIDGE X2

I didn’t choose the darkness

The darkness chose me

I could have been a fun guy

If not for fucked up brain chemistry

CHORUS 2

I can’t be a fun guy

When serotonin runs dry

Can’t be a party animal

When I sink like a cannonball

It ain’t fun for me either

When someone else is the leader

Grabbing me by the throat

Use my blood to write a special note

Can’t be a fun guy

Can’t be a fun guy

Fun guy, fun guy

Fun guy! Fun guy!

Asking Too Much

Am I asking too much when I tell you to stop?

Did I break any laws, Mr. Keystone Cop?

I refuse to be someone’s damsel in distress

I shouldn’t have my freedoms be put to the test

Am I asking too much when I say back off?

I hate your stupid jokes, does that mean I’m soft?

I refuse to take abuse from my inner circle

I shouldn’t have bruises of black and purple

Am I asking too much just to live my life?

Do I need permission from a nonexistent wife?

I refuse to dignify your insults with a response

I shouldn’t have to justify my needs and wants

Am I asking too much to flee the country?

Can I do it with my own hard-earned money?

I refuse to let you take control of my cash

I shouldn’t have to watch it burn into ash

Am I asking too much to forget the pain?

The kind that feels like getting hit by a train?

I refuse to let the past put me in the grave

I shouldn’t have to be my own traumatic slave

Am I asking too much? No, I’m clearly not

I’m undoing all the damage of shitty lessons taught

I refuse to carry on without breaking the cycle

I shouldn’t bear the burden of a bastard psycho

I’m asking very little

No meeting in the middle

I’m a human fucking being

That’s all you should be seeing

The Whole World Is Watching

The whole world is watching whenever you’re botching

A million TV’s tune in

Whenever you shower, their dicks become towers

Tissues flushed into the sewage

Whenever you slide and you land on your hide

They laugh just like a demon

Whenever you stutter and melt into butter

The power dynamic is uneven

When you ask her out and you’re crippled by doubt

The comedy starts to punch down

When your ass gets fired for being too tired

You become their favorite punk clown

When you leave the bar and then you crash your car

The comedy turns into tragedy

When you rot in jail from your epic fail

It’s time to end the pageantry

When you take your last breath and teeter on death

The shock pads wake you up

When they set you free for the world to see

They grab their popcorn and soda cup

When you leave them hanging, their big heads are banging

Against a fucking brick wall

When you’re born for laughs and government graphs

You don’t have permission to bawl

When you’re born this way, at the end of the day

It was God who made the mistake

When death’s a solution in this institution

It’s your only shot at a coffee break

The whole world is watching whenever you’re dodging

The spotlight in the sky

The whole world hates you, they always debate you

Brain tells you to say goodbye

Celebrate Yourself

VERSE 1

You don’t have to win at March Madness

To earn the right to alleviate your sadness

If all you did was survive another year

Then celebrate yourself with cake and beer

You call yourself weak, but I see the opposite

You’re a badass and a half and alive on top of it

Your value isn’t measured by a teacher’s grade

Or whether or not the boss man gets paid

CHORUS 1

Celebrate yourself, because you’ve got this

Shine your beacon of light, don’t ever stop it

On those days when you’re feeling like hell

Celebrate yourself until you’re healthy and well

VERSE 2

Getting out of bed is worth a thousand Oscars

And a thousand tape gags for the smack-talkers

And a thousand tacos on your dinner plate

And a thousand burgers is what you ate

Getting dressed in your absolute best

Is a feat in itself, you more than passed the test

In a world where everything drains you away

Be thankful that you lived yet another day

CHORUS 1

Celebrate yourself, because you’ve got this

Shine your beacon of light, don’t ever stop it

On those days when you’re feeling like hell

Celebrate yourself until you’re healthy and well

BRIDGE

When racing to the top of the corporate ladder

Leaves you so empty that effort doesn’t matter

Remember that glory is always overrated

When it’s a line of work you definitely hated

What’s so great about grinding and dying

When it leaves you defeated and crying?

A boss man could never really understand

The pain of it all when his head’s in the sand

CHORUS 2

Celebrate yourself, you’re worth more than this

Your strengths belong on a never-ending list

On those days when you’re doubting it all

Celebrate yourself, stand a hundred feet tall

Good Morning to No One

7:30 in the morning

The sky looks like shit

Wintry mix is pouring down

And I’m getting sick of it

9:30 in the morning

Hit the head, go back to bed

I never once believed in

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead”

11:30 in the morning

Put on clothes, feed the cat

Doom scroll into infinite

And wonder why I feel sad

1:00 in the afternoon

I eat a Hungry, Hungry Man

Breakfast of champions

It’s amazing I can still stand

2:30 in the afternoon

It’s the same old, same old

Watch a video, learn nothing

Spend the rest of the day cold

4:30 in the evening

Will I or will I not?

Another day in stasis

Emotions of a porno bot

6:30 in the evening

Eat my dinner way too fast

More COVID deaths on the news

And it sure won’t be the last

8:30 in the evening

Should I eat a whole pizza pie?

It’s the only thing I can do

To resist the urge to cry

10:00 at night

I’m not ready for the sack

I’d probably wake up anyway

With all this pain in my back

Midnight, oh, midnight

Will you come take me away?

I can’t believe in tomorrow

When it’s another shitty day

2:00 in the morning

My eyes are too heavy

Here comes the final flood

To break down the eyelid levies

Good morning to no one

You couldn’t hear me anyway

Too busy with your own life

Earning peanuts for your pay

Simping for a Succubus

VERSE 1

It gets lonely in the middle of nowhere

My future plans include, “I don’t care”

Wouldn’t know where to start looking

For adult fun time that’s worth booking

I have dreams about being taken away

Though I wouldn’t know where to stay

Where, oh, where is the Promised Land?

Succubus lady, take me by the hand

CHORUS

Simping for a succubus

She’s the only one I trust

To be tender, to be sweet

Then discard me on the street

VERSE 2

I know it’s wrong, but what else is there?

It’s Valentine’s Day, love is in the air

Smells a lot like a perfume miasma

To mask the stench of a decaying Santa

Candies and chocolates to make me fat

Fall flat on my face, be a perfect doormat

You can call it depression or desperation

It’s better than a lifetime of masturbation

CHORUS

Simping for a succubus

She’s the only one I trust

To be tender, to be sweet

Then discard me on the street

VERSE 3

Doctor man, what is wrong with me?

Psychoanalyze every little fucking thing

Attachment issues because of autism?

Too much width in my social schism?

Too much trauma? Too much Taco Bell?

You can’t even tell? Got more pills to sell?

Being well-adjusted to a fucked up world

Can’t compare the love of a succubus girl

EXTENDED CHORUS

Simping for a succubus

She’s the only one I trust

To be tender, to be sweet

Then discard me on the street

Simping for a succubus

Though she’ll turn me into dust

Just like ashes, just like cocaine

Up the nose into another’s brain

Stop

Holiday season

A good reason to sleep in

Fever dream demons

STOP!

Tell me I’m no good

In case it’s misunderstood

Quit because I should

STOP!

Play the same damn song

Like it’s ninety minutes long

Hangover’s so strong

STOP!

“What’s the matter, dude?

Don’t be such a little prude

Have some more fast food”

STOP!

“We ain’t stopping soon

We can do this until June

Happy Birthday, loon”

STOP!

I have no more words

For the ones who give me burns

None of your concern

…Stop…

It’s called thought-stopping

My blood pressure is dropping

Brain isn’t popping

…

I can breathe again

No longer have to defend

Round came to an end

…

Until the next time

When you mock my little rhymes

Tell me I should die

…Stop…

Never-ending war

Everything becomes a chore

No choice but to snore

…Stop…

I Don't Feel Victorious

VERSE 1

I did it, I lived through another day

But I don’t feel victorious

Bought a pizza with my monthly pay

But it didn’t taste glorious

Found my emotional charging cord

But I don’t feel like a hero man

Powered down, left to feel bored

My battery’s down to zero, man

CHORUS 1

Forged in fire, what the hell does that even mean?

Can’t be the brightest star that you have ever seen

Greatness is born from a life so torturous

And yet, through it all, I don’t feel victorious

Victorious

Victorious

I don’t feel victorious

VERSE 2

I covered more pages in precious ink

But I don’t feel like a storyteller

I washed all the dishes in my sink

But I still feel deader than Old Yeller

I vacuumed all the dust right off the floor

But I don’t feel like Employee of the Year

Life goes back to being just another bore

But I don’t feel like I belong here

CHORUS 2

Hustle Culture, what the hell is that all about?

Getting fired for having the slightest of self-doubt

And now the big boss man is busy sorting us

Now’s not the time where I feel victorious

Victorious

Victorious

I don’t feel victorious

BRIDGE

Conditioned to feel bad every day of our lives

For daring to exist or trying to just survive

We don’t have a whole lot, not even a nine to five

We don’t want to be dead, but we don’t want to be alive

CHORUS 3

Embrace the suck, what the hell are the layman’s terms?

Die fifteen hundred times and then lay with the worms

The graveyard needs bodies, now the undertaker’s hoarding us

None of us have any right to feel victorious

Victorious

Victorious

I don’t feel victorious

Victorious

Victorious

None of us feel…