The Velvet Rage: Introduction

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When you look around it becomes somewhat undeniable that we are a wounded lot. Somehow, the life we are living isn’t leading us to a better, more fulfilled psychological and emotional place. Instead, we seem to struggle more, suffer more and want more. The gay life isn’t cutting it for most of us.

Tru’dat! Though the only thing I have wanted in life is a companion. That’s it! I can certainly related to the suffering: as a result of addiction, which the author mentions on the previous page and how there is a high clientele that is gay; being HIV+, obese, and apparently ugly.

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Three-Stage Model

Stage 1: Overwhelmed by Shame: “in the closet.”
Stage 2: Compensating for Shame: Gay man’s attempt to neutralize his shame by being more successful, outrageous, fabulous, beautiful, or masculine.
Stage 3: Cultivating Authenticity: building a life based upon one’s own passions and values

I think I am at Stage 3. I have already had some eye-opening moments where I realized how I was “shaped” to be who I am/was. It makes me sick because I have become the opposite of who I really am.

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He goes on to say who wonderful his life is after accepting himself.

Cynicism and skepticism rising.

ANTI-FEINSTEIN

IRONY?

As I began to compose, the lyric “mine eyes have seen the glory…,” the Battle Hymn of the Republic.

The song links the judgment of the wicked at the end of the age (Old Testament, Isaiah 63; New Testament, Rev. 19) with the American Civil War. Since that time, it has become an extremely popular and well-known American patriotic song.[Wikipedia]

My Wicked: U.S. Government, The One Percent, Capitalism
My Prediction: As people’s eyes are opened – no matter how long it takes – how little the actually matter, they will rebel with cries of injustice…oh, wait! They already are.

This past Sunday 60 Minutes: The Whistleblower was an eye-opener! And became my battle cry to finally get Dianne Feinstein out of office, finally. The way 60 MInutes portrayed the senate floor’s reaction on television shows just how dismissive I believe politicians are and make me feel as a citizen, hence difficulty in letting go of my hate.

Since then – two fucking days, 2 tweets to 60 minutes, 2 tweets to l a times writers – I have been trying to find out the name of the bill/law, so I could confirm Dianne Feinstein’s vote, when I came across this:

The bill Marino sponsored — Ensuring Patient Access and Effective Drug Enforcement Act — sailed through Congress with unanimous support and was signed by President Obama in 2016. The legislation makes it harder for the DEA to suspend drug companies from fulfilling suspiciously large shipments of opioids, according to a report from The Washington Post and CBS News’ “60 Minutes.”[ABC News]

I should have known it would be my favorite news channel. I also came across this:

Did President Obama know bill would strip DEA of power? [Washington Post]

Never considered that.

Hm!

In my universe it is considered the height of irresponsibility to sign anything without knowing what one was signing! Either that, or the signer just didn’t care; like my supposed “government representatives:” Senators Dianne Feinstein and Kamala Harris; Representatives Maxine Waters and Karen Bass; and President: Barack Obama.

I must acknowledge my psychologist for his suggestion that I investigate a creative outlet for my hate. In addition to pot, which makes me mellow, I think I have found it and unleash my first in a series of Wickedness:

ANTI-FEINSTEIN

ANTI-FEINSTEIN by CulverCityLeo image courtesy wired.com

I was short one color…not bad. I’ll get it down to eight. I feel more relaxed after my cousin and our mutual friend, Sylvia brought me some McDonald’s and I ate some brownie, and I vented through creativity and oh, I fired my psychiatrist. He was pretty blunt today saying he is about medication and if I am choosing not to take it there is not much more he can do. I am like, “Great, are we done here?”

Sobbing, But Not Crying

Earlier in the day dad had asked to ask a question of me without a sarcastic response.

“Why do I sprinkle the salt from so high when cooking my food?”

He has asked me this before and I always felt like he was antagonizing me. Without thinking about the question at length, I answered him as seriously as I could, “I don’t know.”

While sitting here knitting, I pondered his question and finally realized why I do sprinkle the salt from so high: because there are two shakers – I am completely unaware of which is which – one sprinkles fast, one slow and I can’t fucking see.

Serious Truth: I sprinkle salt from high so I can see the sprinkles in the light and know how much salt is going into my food.

I just went over to my parents house to cook some Ramen Noodles (5 for $.99) for lunch. I approached my dad and said: “The reason I keep giving you a sarcastic response is because you keep asking me a sarcastic question – seriously, in what world does sprinkle height correlate to taste? Before I could continue with the discovered truth to his question, he interrupted me with his normal tirade about cleaning up after one’s self after cooking. I replied that when “everyone else – specifically, my fat-assed, active-addict – started cleaning up after themselves, I might be even more detailed. I kept the rest inside.

Now between you and me, I clean every time after I cook. Sometimes, by the time I get back to my garage, to eat with Mojo, the food is cold. Sometimes, I clean the microwave. Sometimes I clean the sink. Sometimes, I clean the stove. In my head, I feel like my dad is being unreasonable. I know he is right, and I would have explained that to him if he had not interrupted. I will pay more attention, but he could’ve been nicer about how he was communicating that to me.

Adding fuel to his inner fury is my brother – back from more “research,” which has thrown my mother into co-dependant mode. I am just as furious and completely disgusted at my mother’s and brother’s relationship dynamic. It is sickening to see.

Talking about all this with my cousin, I do see how my dad is acting out from his fury – for me: identified by the fact that my brother has not been welcomed back into their home this time – and I am making it personal. Still, my heart is broken (big time seriously, I am actually sobbing, but not crying) at the realization of who I had become, especially at the horizon of another layer being peeled away, when I am trying to change who I had become to the person I really am.

I am feeling like no one is there for me, not even my family. Here is another example: There are three recliners in the tv room: Mom, Dad, Guest. At first Mojo and I would go over to watch tv with them at time. Our visits became less frequent as I noticed the cup holder on the guest chair was always occupied with my father’s drink. Next – and I perfectly agree – Mojo was no longer welcome; indicated by no invitations to sit in dad’s lap anymore. Not a word has been said about Mojo, but I have stopped on my own, taking him over. I got the message loudly passively and aggressively.

I just don’t know what to do. My immediate plan: stay home…until dinner time. I hate to go over angry. My cousin says I should have accepted her invitation to breakfast this morning. When I though about it, she was right: had I gone to breakfast, I never would have had to cook this morning, prompting the question at all. I declined, claiming financial insecurity.

Moral of the Story: Say yes to the universe and universe will say yes to you!

Calling for housing assistance again.

Cynicism Regarding Go Fund Me Dollars for Las Vegas Shooting

I awoke this morning to news that an account that I swear had a goal of $100,000, had exceeded it’s continually revised goal and now was at nine million!

My first thought was who is going to administer that money? How do I know that all that money will go to its intended purpose. I really shouldn’t care because I donated zero, but the questions the news evoked are still swirling in my head.

Here is a list of the Go Fund Me accounts from searching Las Vegas:

Las Vegas Victim’s Fund $9,179,553
Love Army for Las Vegas $268,295
Rhonda le Rocque Las Vegas Shooting $47,498
Andrea Castilla – Las Vegas Victim $61,459
Mr. & Mrs. Bignami (Las Vegas) $48,859
Hanna Ahlers – Las Vegas Victim $49,861
Las Vegas Shooting Victim – Amanda $41,669
Las Vegas Victim, Officer Hartfield $55,532

My second thought is: Is it really that expensive to bury someone? Has the cost of living risen so high that successful – term used in comparison to my homelessness – can’t afford to bury their dead?

I was raised in an era where if shit happened, you picked up and started over again…on your own, with some help. Nowadays, I see people go directly to Go Fund Me to offset their familial, dutiful expenses. The fact that burial is so expensive and even practiced anymore is horrific in itself. I told my family to bury me under the illegal residence I maintain and leave it at that!

I do think the event was sad. I felt for those people at the time of discovery, but I am over it now and can’t wait for it to be none-news. I am tired of politicians fake well-wishes; if they really cared, they’s enact tougher gun regulation. I understand those affected will take more time, but as for me, I’ve moved on.

Las Vegas Go Fund Me Accounts

Las Vegas Go Fund Me Accounts

Massacre/Mass-Shooting Pool Worksheet

Truth Regarding Mass Shootings & Massacres

Like it or not, this is my response to the events unfolding in Las Vegas.

My Truth: As long as…

  • there is a 1%
  • humans are divided by race instead of united by species
  • military bombs the hell out of the planets surface
  • the outer space becomes littered with spacecraft
  • the American government continues to kills its constituents through lack of decent healthcare as a right
  • this world falls into disrepair

…we are going to need this more often.

Massacre/Mass-Shooting Pool Worksheet

Massacre/Mass-Shooting Pool Worksheet

Obesssion is essential to creativity

Obsession

ob·ses·sion

noun

  1. the state of being obsessed with someone or something.
  2. an idea or thought that continually preoccupies or intrudes on a person’s mind.

As I sit here at my desk, crocheting a onesie for my future grand nephew, I am realizing how fucking lonely I am: I am crocheting through my pain. My thoughts keep going back to companionship (sexual, intimate). My mind keeps telling me to make another personal ad, but then I start thinking of all the negative aspects about myself that will keep males from responding: HIV+, herpes, obesity, impotence, etc.

I also think: you have 500 mg of marijuana edible; drop that with two bananas and enjoy the day. Sounds good to me! I love altered states, especially marijuana states because it makes me mellow. However, it also makes me crave male companionship even more.

I realize that I am constantly focus on sex. When I meet people and I am attracted to them, I immediately wonder what he looks like naked, how good he would be, now nasty, how dominant, how submissive, how passionate, etc. Because of this, I don’t know how to relate; it might be a different story if I was pleasantly attractive to others, but we’ll never know, so let’s not go there.

I think about calling my only friend, my cousin, to see what she is doing since I know I have received my SSI deposit, but then my logical brain says to pay my bills first.

My Truth: I need to get back to my crochet; at least I am being productive. Might as well get high also; make a boring, eventless, routine day more pleasant. Besides, I already have laundry in the washing machine.

Searching for the feature image for this post, the one I chose made me feel better, despite lack of understanding. I am a creator and I suppose I can become obsessed with pattern testing, development, etc, but that is good; my sexual obsession is not and I do things that I am not comfortable with, but anything to achieve my end goal: intimate companionship.

Enough!

Obesssion is essential to creativity

Obesssion is essential to creativity