Another Summer Almost Gone

The heatwave broke so we are back to our normal 110 to 115 days. Eight more days until September. I'm riding it out like this...in this chair, with a full misting bottle, my remote, and water. I am in the end of summer conservation mode. I am not the master of my own reality, I am merely a player. Sedentary as I am lately, maybe a prop. 

It is hot. It is the desert... hydrate or die.

This last week has been an endurance test. With temperatures staying above one hundred degrees for twenty hours, and the low temps in the upper eighties, I have had to change my sleep schedule. This can be problematic for me, more so than the heat. A key thing to remember with heat is simple...hydrate or die. When I start majorly messing with my sleep schedule I can, and most usually, get a little crazy.

I am actively psychotic most times. The degree of intensity is what varies for me. I'd call them episodes, but its been about three years since I can remember full silence in my head. So maybe I'll call them my symptoms. That's what my therapist calls them.

These symptoms range from crowd noise, two regular voices, to seeing my shadow buddy, or random figures run across my periphery. The visuals have slowed down a lot. It's been a few weeks, I believe, since I've seen anything. Mostly it's noise. I get random explosions and gunshots from time to time. It's a cacophony of noise.

This time is different, in a good way. This time I really exacerbated my symptoms by drastically changing my sleep pattern. At the time I didn't even think about it. I just did it. I don't recommend that though. The good that came from this was that I can control this to a point. Last year I accepted that this was going to be my new normal. (I can't believe I just strung those two words together.) By accepting the hallucinations for what they really are... hallucinations, it freed me in a sense. Don't get me wrong, they still scare the shit out of me sometimes. I just realize what they are quicker, I suppose.

Its funny that, due to some issues with VA, I haven't had my meds for the past couple months, but I feel that I am doing alright. I haven't yelled at God, Jesus, or the devil in a long time. Ironically I was on meds when that last one happened. I talk to my voices when I'm in the store, but its so muffled, like a little kid muttering that cool new swear word they learned on the playground. In a voice so faint, a butterfly flying by would muffle the sound...I just got a taste of Zest in my mouth. No wonder I was a chickenshit. But I talk softly with a mask over my face, a look that suits me fine, and nobody is the wiser. Thank you pandemic.

Oh, and this heat is a bitch on cellphone batteries. I am starting to do all my important things, like typing this thumb jumbled mess, in the evening when it is cooler...kinda.

Oooh, theres a breeze starting. Time to watch the stars.

My Depression Today

Depression is a snaggletooth hag intent on eating your soul.

All of this recent reflection has opened up the door for my depression to waltz on in, like a familiar antagonist, so familiar that I gave it a label...My Dark Soul. It reads like a book you've read twenty times. It becomes predictable, but you entertain it nonetheless. You have no choice. Depression is a bitch!

With the exception of me reliving the darker parts of my past, I've had a relatively stable life recently. My unconventional living arrangements have brought me stability. Right now my vision is for intentional community. --Ok, I've had that vision for years.-- I'm also writing more, eating well, and managing my symptoms.

And I still get depressed.

An easy way to keep depression away, I suppose, would be to stuff it back into those dank boxes in my mind's equally dank basement. I want resolution. I want closure. So that's out.

The only way to deal with it is to deal with it.

I've come to look at the pain of depression like a healing wound. The depression, for me, always goes away. The length of time varies. It is more an endurance test for me these days. But the pain is going away, there's healing and ugly scars, so thick that they protect that wound from ever experiencing pain again. I am not going to let it kill me. No, I will save that for whatever the healthy American lifestyle throws my way.

I'm still depressed. I'm dealing with it. I have a wonderful campmate who is aware of my brain's faults and keeps the day to day stuff caught up while I do my little sad boy shit of laying around because I literally feel a physical heaviness, like gravity got turned up to ten, or a hundred. At this point my voices are their worst. Sometimes I fight back. Other times, most times if I'm honest, I ignore them. During those times I am worthles. It takes a lot of energy to fight your brain.

It is getting better. I can feel it lifting. I actually did the dishes today. I'm taking showers. I am able to write this little hacky blog post. I'm not laying around as much. This time next week my mood will be better. At least I hope so.

It still sucks, but its getting better.

My Thoughts While Waiting for Armageddon

When I was growing up I moved a lot. I went to nine schools before I dropped out in 10th grade. Those last two years I don't consider actual learning. My high school experience consisted of attending only two classes. One was English comp, and the other was Teens and Law...it was the early 80s.

My delinquency isn't my point. (Focus dumbass)

I was always the new kid. I would find myself in the awkward position of making new friends and hoping I wouldn't get my ass kicked on the first day. The second day is ok, but on the first day is not a good introduction.

I've been on a journey of sorts lately. After my hospitalization I resolved to fix my shit no matter how painful, and embarrassing I thought it would inevitably be. Its not as bad as I thought, I always think the worst; in fact it has been healing.

This journey has me remembering a lot from my past. I was remembering those first days at all those new schools. The uneasy feeling of not knowing a soul. The apprehension of not knowing if I was going to get in a fight before the day ended. Having to stand up in class to introduce myself...all of it got jumbled up into my little body and made the first day of a new school hell.

Most of those fears were more fabrications in my head than truth. I got in one fight on the first day of second grade because I told a another kid, a pasty blonde headed tough guy that there is no such thing as a white Indian when he told me he was Native American. I have always had a problem speaking such stuff out loud.

Still working on it.

That was one instance. Most times I would get settled in to my desk after my introduction and would invariably make friends with some of the kids in class.

With the exception of a few places I've lived, everwhere I have lived has been pretty diverse. I feel fortunate to have lived in such diversity. Having done so has given me an appreciation for other cultures. More importantly, it opened my eyes to the broad spectrum of humanity.

The other day I was thinking about an old friend from Saudi Arabia. I knew Amir from 5th grade. We sat next to each other in class. His father was an engineer for some petroleum company. Amir was like me in that he went to as many schools as I did, except his were in other countries. We found a commonality quickly. For what little time we were together we were able to learn about each other's cultures, day to day life stuff, and that when we shared that we realized we really weren't that different. In fact, the only difference oftentimes being skin color. What I saw when I went to dinner at Amir's house was family, something I didn't have in that sense, but yearned for. His mother insisting I eat more, " You're so tiny." She would tell me as she scraped more kabasa on my plate. I couldn't refuse.

In hindsight what I received was basic human kindness. And I realized that we have the same desires for those we care about, and humanity at large.

We have more in common than we don't.

As always, I feel like I'm rambling. So I'm going to close with this quote from Mark Twain. Yeah, I know, he's probably going to be cancelled pretty soon, if not already. But do you know what? He is right.

"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime."

You don't have to travel far.

Why I Dislike Politicians...Especially Career Politicians

I recently read some excerpts from Mary Trump's book, "Too Much and Never Enough: How My Family Created the World's Most Dangerous Man". I'm waiting for my copy as I write this. From what I read it doesn't paint a pretty picture of Mr Trump.

Mr Trump's family drama aside, it exposes an alarming trend in what is and isn't culturally acceptable. What will we tolerate? What is acceptable truth? Does that all depend on our source of information? Are we being brainwashed, lulled into complacency by sharply contrasting opinion of the same news stories?

Is this the new and improved propaganda machine?  A confusion generator by design. Just talking heads with talking points and no real substance. In it we hear opinion as if it were truth, casting away any chance of hearing differing opinions.

Apparently, what this last few years have shown is that fundamental Christians can tolerate a hell of a lot more than previously thought.

In my opinion that makes them hypocrites. That's fine with me. After years entrenched in the charismatic church, that hydra reared its ugly head on more than one occasion. In short...it was expected. It just needed the right conditions to flourish.

The church tolerates a lot. We all do to a point. That we currently have two candidates with sexual assault charges against them proves that.

It seems greed moved the line of common decency back past debauchery, and mayhem...straight to pedophilia, and sexual assault.

And it seems ok to us as a whole. Let that sink in. We're collectively ok with that.

With any broad generalization I throw out there, I feel the need to clarify that I know it's not really all of us. I know there are individuals on the front lines, doing the work, rescuing slaves. Yes, slaves. There are people exposing pedophiles by posing as young children online to catch them before they can ruin another child's life. It is sad it is needed, but I am grateful to those doing the right thing.

As with anything that I have been writing lately, this is really personal for me. What follows may trigger some of you. It involves sexual assault. I feel its important enough to share, in not so graphic detail, the emotional toll brought on by someone's selfish perversions.

When I was fifteen years old I was drugged, and raped by two older men that I thought of as friends.

It took me almost forty years to say that out loud. It also devastated my life.

Some of you know that I live with mental Illness. I live with constant noise, occasional visits from my shadow buddy, and two voices (one of which used to be god) that have reminded me on and off for years about the details and fault of my assault. They tell me it was my fault. They had me convinced the only option was suicide. I am glad to say that through a series of events from people I didn't realize cared about me...a lot, I went to the hospital and confronted my demons.

Nowadays I fight them back. I have a tattoo on my right wrist. Its a semicolon with the words, "I'm still here fuckers" I got it the day after I was discharged from the hospital. It has served as a reminder that I am a fighter.

It is also a declaration to my rapists. You didn't kill me. I'm still here fuckers!

So, back to my lament.

And we are ok with candidates, those in office, those in leadership, with history of sexual misconduct.

I did a quick Google search the other day. It was, politicians with sexual misconduct charges. I've provided a link at the end of this. The list will blow your mind. Some are extramarital affairs, some are straight up disgusting.

From that list it would appear that any kind of deviant behavior is an accepted practice among those in office. Almost like its collateral damage for the privilage of sharing their profound political genius.

I don't believe they are totally to blame. I believe that power has corrupted our politicians, regardless of sexual crimes. All politicians are hiding something. I also believe that the same power allows for more corruption to accumulate.

Like I said, this is personal for me. Sexual predators should not be leading our country. They should be in jail. But, because of that power they are allowed a pass? Is that the message we are sending when we go to the polls?

Its time we take control of this country. Our country. I'm still a fighter. I am a voice of frustration. Frustrated with the direction a few have taken this country. Frustrated with few choices for leadership. Frustrated with politicians more worried about polls and towing the party line I stead of fixing all of this shit mess they created. They're like little kids who threw all the toys out from the toy box and are refusing to clean up. If I had my way, you all would be spanked.

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_federal_political_sex_scandals_in_the_United_State

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I'm Back...

Ok, I have come back to this blog. I've had this blog, in one form or another, since the early 2000's. I leave it from time to time, but like an old friend, our relationship picks up where it let off. Its comforting. 

Since my last post so many years ago, I have had a lot happen. One significant thing that has happened centers around my mental illness. I'll save you the details for now. Cliff Notes, my mental illness got worse, which I expected, and I'm now living off grid, squatting in Slab City. 

I love it here. Its currently hot as hell, and it feels like preparation for eternity if I let my thoughts go that way. The heat doesn't bother me. I have my friends, dogs, shelter, lots of food, and most importantly, peace. I also have lots of time now to write. I had a huge breakthrough in my treatment recently that opened up my concentration. I thought I had lost the ability to hyperfocus on something like art, writing, watching a TV show, reading...oh my god, reading! 

I thought I lost that. 

I am usually into two or three books in a week. I like to have a novel in there for entertainment. Mostly though, I've been refreshing myself with prerevolutionary American papers, essays, declarations. 

So I dust this blog off once again. This time its going to be whatever comes to mind. I'm just some mental living in the desert with a lot of time and a lot of thinking. 

Its either this or drinking myself to death. Naw, fuck that. Oh yeah, I'm still pretty salty with the language. I would apologize, but why would I apologize for a set of words that give no doubt to the writers intention. They add emphasis in ways that only those special literary gems can. The perfect sentence enhancer. Fuck yeah, now that's the shit. 

Ok, I have shit to think about. Check back often, or not at all. FREEDOM! 

I am on a break..

 If you haven't noticed yet, I have taken a bit of a break from this blog. I have been focusing my efforts over at Strike Magazine, Facebook and submitting the occasional poem here and there. I will be back in due time. Until then, check out Strike Magazine...



© Charles Scott 2014

First Article at Strike Magazine

Recent piece at Strike Magazine... Check it out here.





© Charles Scott 2014

Screaming Sundays: Good Writing is at Your Fingertips

Screaming Sundays at Screaming With Brevity.

Good Writing is at Your Fingertips

Thank you to Matthew J. Hall for asking me to contribute.

Screaming Sundays: The Apathy of Our Species

 SCREAMING SUNDAYS

Fear..Healthy Fear..Common Sense

 

As a writer I am forced to research certain topics in order to have some sort of subject knowledge. I must admit that I really like that aspect of writing. It enables me to learn something new, find obscure facts that help me win a game of Trivial Pursuit, and gives me the ability to correct people when they are talking out their asses. Okay, that last part never happens. I am usually the one talking out my ass.

There is a damn good reason I stumbled upon the topic of phobias.

The actual bunny trail started on a holiday outing with the family and friends. There we were, enjoying each others company, conversation and food. These events, more often than not, involve each family bringing some sort of food contribution. Everybody loads up their plates and feasts like its the last meal any of us will ever eat. (Merica!) Afterwards, we sit around, watch the kids do what kids do, talk, drink and mosey back to the table to pick at food.

I was sitting at the table, minding my own business, munching on a bag of chips. I was content. Out of nowhere one of the rugrats sat down next to me, grabbed the bag of chips and started eating. The problem is the little fellas process in eating those chips.

Hand in bag.

Chips to mouth.

Lick the flavor off his fingers.

Hand back in bag.

He must have decided that he had his fill and handed the bag back to me, taking off to the playground of dismemberment and death.

I threw up a little in my mouth at the thought of what kind of nasty microbe was lurking in that bag. I sat it down. No sooner had I sat it down another kid grabbed it and proceeded to do the same thing. I found out days later that all of the kids there that day had gotten sick. All of them except that little Typhoid Kevin who was the first to grab that bag of chips from me.

As I recalled that fateful day I found myself wondering if I was being unreasonable. Was my concern a healthy one, or did I have a phobia...Off to the internet for free medical diagnosis I went.

Here is an interesting fact. There are a lot of phobias!

Here is another fact. Some of the names associated with some of these phobias will throw you off, and others are spot on.

An example of this would be spermophobia. At first glance, one would think that it is a fear of sperm. But no, it's not that simple. It means a fear of germs.

How about bathophobia? Fear of baths it is not. It is the fear of depth.

What the hell?

Some are down right funny and I cannot believe they are actual fears.

Macrophobia: The fear of long waits. (I suffer from this to the point of anger.)

Politicophobia: The fear of politicians.

Pogonophobia: The fear of beards. (I am slightly pogonophobic in that I only fear beards worn by hipsters.)

Hierophobia. The fear of priests. (I am not too sure if this is an unhealthy fear)

Dikephobia: The fear of justice. (Okay, that made me snicker.)

Coprophobia: The fear of feces. (I think this applies to most of us)

After reading the list of phobias, I am compelled to add one more to that list.

Boogerdigitsinmychipbagphobia: the fear of kids reaching into a bag of chips.

© Charles Scott 2014

 Screaming Sundays Coming July 6th at Screaming With Brevity.

This is My Last Political Commentary Poem (or so it seems)

To all who are concerned, those reading this, and anyone half interested:

This is my last political commentary poem.
You see, I feel I have exhausted this topic
and am growing bored with it all.
Maybe I will write a sonnet, an ode
or a beautiful poem to some backwoods retreat.
Maybe I will explore more free verse
that tells the stories of people encountered...

a voice for the voiceless.

Of course, I reserve the right to rescind this declaration
in the event another Bush is elected
to the White House, or the population
of the Rotund Rascal Riders reaches 30 percent.

If at any time the Tea Party is actually taken seriously
I will have to take up my pen.
This is a moral obligation
that negates anything else I may have said
or written.

(When the snake of stupidity rears its doltish head, one must cut said head off to save oneself from madness.)

Viva la Revolution!

So, until then I leave with this:

Our freedom is a facade
covering corruption.

True freedom is within our minds.
True freedom lies within you.

When all else fails,
fight!

Fascism is alive and well
fighting the war on
terrorism.

Slavery is present
in the quest for everyday
low prices.

Racism survived the
holocaust of
equal opportunity.


© Charles Scott 2014

Thinking About Life Choices That Didn't Revolve Around Me

 

To be a true PUNK

is to be what

your parents

were not.

To cast aside

your desires,

aspirations,

fucking dreams,

for those

you brought into

this world.

Never trust a hippie.

They will always

follow

their

libido.

Real PUNKS

are what

their parents

never

were.

PARENTS!

© Charles Scott 2014

From Russia With Love

 

 I was checking out my stats tonight and I noticed that there are 10 Russians who have been checking out my blog. It could also be Snowden checking 10 times. Hard to tell. 

I will read for food and vodka...and a plane ticket (round trip) cheap cigars and those little babushka dolls,

Charles Scott: Juggler of Words and Thoughts  ·  Stats  ›  Audience

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© Charles Scott 2014

Screaming Sundays

Do you read?
Do you write?
Do you spend endless hours reading and writing?
Click this link and engage!

Advice

Never pass on the chance to use a toilet.

This is especially prudent when traveling eastward

from Barstow.

Sure, you can pull off to the side of the road,

but you run into the chance of getting bit by a scorpion

with your pants down. Nobody wants to leave a corpse

that way.

Don't eat seafood in Kansas City, or anywhere within

a 800 mile radius.

Doing so will swear one off of lobster forever.

Trust me on this one.

Never pick your nose in traffic.

You are not invisible while in your car.

Make sure to tell those dear to you that you

love them.

Make sure to tell your adversaries that you

hate them.

Say hi to your mailman. He has a hard job and enjoys idle

chit chat.

Create at least one thing in your life.

Children don't count. That's a colaboraton.

Clean out your wallet once in a while.

Sometimes you'll find cash that you forgot about

because you are getting older.

Don't tell others what to do.

Don't let others tell you what

to do.

Never make your bed.

Drink a lot of beer in moderation.

Only shop at Walmart for entertainment.

Be all that you can be,

but not in the Army.

Most of all,

don't listen to the advice from anyone

willing to give it freely.

© Charles Scott 2014

*I may have to add to this as time goes by*

Parent of the Year (or, making beer money with dad)

 

CRACK!

I never saw the old man

move that fast.

I mean, one minute he's

holding a cue, the next

he's hitting this poor mark
with 18 oz of wood
on the side of the head.

That poor guy didn't see

it coming.

Hell, I didn't see it

coming.

"C'mon, we gotta go,"

I tell my dad as he is grabbing the guys money

off the table.

I pull dad along as stunned,

angry,

rednecks

start to head our way.

Okay, let me tell you,

I thought I was dead,

or at best

left in a coma

if we didn't leave.

If he weren't my dad

I would have left him.

I know any other

hustling,

drunk,

septuagenarian

would have died that night.

I pushed the old man

into the Cordoba,

prayed it would

start. (it did)

We peeled away,

no headlights in the

rear view.

"How much did we make?"

I asked.

"$40.00."

The rest of the ride home

was silent.

© Charles Scott 2014

From Matthew J. Hall

 This needs to be in a physical form that fits into a back pocket to be taken out more often than not and read.



From the Depths and Through the Madness

From Matthew J. Hall

 This needs to be in a physical form that fits into a back pocket to be taken out more often than not and read.



From the Depths and Through the Madness