Personal Interlude 2: Whoa EMO 2

First, it upsets me thinking about superbook. Here is a kid born in this dirt-poor family, so poor he didn't have any permanent teeth left hardly at 18, gets a big scholarship for computer engineering, can't hack the University emotionally, manages to squeak into the army (he never used more than one or two cover stories, and that was not one of them) because of his insane computer skills, the army is giving him health-care and patching him up, he's running everyday with the grunts - I would die along with him just thinking about it.

So we're going to hit another issue. I am not going to point fingers or name names, even though I could madly get away with it, but I want to make a serious point. From when I started attempting to contact people on Internet communities 9 years ago, until now, I have been labeled a troll at every community I attended, and then psychologically abused by the staff at the community so they could keep up their illegal con-schemes. I would call that unethical.

Back when superbook was on the 'Net, the excuse for me being called a troll was that I ran with superbook. I will explain to you that I was and am labeled a troll for none of the reasons superbook was. Superbook was in fact a troll, and I am - and was - trying to helpfully participate in an Internet community. Further, when I'm not sure about a post, thread, or guideline, I make a polite request from a moderator or admin. You know what I get? - psychological torment from a pack of self-righteous brigands. That is what I get.

I'll tell you - when a person has a string of not getting along with anyone, I would generally tell them to look square in the mirror. Me - I believe today that I am an ethical and valuable man and that you, guys and gals, are a pack of diseased and abusive self-righteous brigands. For these reasons, the word "congregation," is not in my vocabulary, and "bread that is meat," is a funny joke, because a guy like me with no more than a widow's mite for a tithe and a radical and sincere attitude towards his beliefs has been abused by almost every genre and flavor of cult currently active in the glorious United States of America, and that is only off of the 'Net.

What I've figured out about life is pretty simple. I am compromising with a status of life that is nowhere near what I deserve because of what I've called "bid time," and that this gives me the freedom to say and write and compose and play what I want. Otherwise, no one remembers I exist or cares to hear that I'm a human being, and there is no exception to this rule in any area or person in my entire life. Period. I told my therapist that I would enter the dumpster along with my life's work when I died, and really already had, only to receive some ya-ya drooling, "indirect statements," in return. I do not feel any love people, and I do not want to be a man of hate.

You are people of hate, and people of lies. I will die in that dumpster with your pack of swindles thrown in tow behind me. WHOA EMO! You have mutilated me psychologically to a point where I find it difficult to even survive. I really don't care for your ya-ya drooling anymore, and will die knowing there was at least one good person who lived on the planet - because when I look square in the mirror, I see an imperfect, radical, but valuable and radically sincere man. Have a nice day if you are capable of having one, but if there isn't a proverbial place of torment, you belong there according to me. According to you - me and my work belong in the dumpster. Hello from your marginal dumpster, dear world, and I ask for nothing from your filthy palms.

Well to finish off, one line from a nu-skool version of an old-skool, and one more line:

1. "6 million ways to die, chose one."
2. "Sometimes a man gotta' do whatta' bullet do."

I've got nothing. Help yourself to your luxuries and plenty. You are no one to me, and it has been proven for at least 4 years that I am no one to you. I'll be back with some ya-ya that doesn't deal with this central problem in my life later.