I really need to force myself to get to work. I can phart around on Facebook at home, but must listen to class lectures on school computer.

It really bugs me that I'm limited to the number of pages I can "Like" on Facebook. I can't even "like" some of the pages I'm admin for now!

Oh fuck my old boots. With all the empty computers the people with the noisy, whiny kid had to come sit right next to me!

1st anniversary of Dad's passing. Am doing ok but for some reason my thoughts keep going back to the holidays when I was 10 years old.

Hindsight is Stupid

This post may be a little more humorous, though I am still misanthropic and curmudgeony. So if for some reason you came here looking for fluffy bunnies and unicorns farting rainbows, well, sorry.

It occurs to me that I have reason to be disgusted with myself for being so desperate that I fell for flattery and thus put myself among disgenuous people who cared not a whit about how their behavior might hurt me, so long as they got what they wanted.

The detractors are in a category unto themselves, and it's pretty straightforward. "U suck and aren't "trve" evil, black, metal, death-obsessed, what the fuck ever. And I hate U. And U suck. So there!"

Well, I suck. That's pretty unflattering. But it's also pretty much right to the point. These people don't like me. I'd rather be straight up disliked than to have people pretending to like me to get something out of me. Oh sure, some of these people may have actually convinced themselves that they did like me. But they "liked" me because I held the key to His Nibs. Truth was, they couldn't have given a fart in a category 5 hurricane about me.

Still, when you've got people gushing over your first-ever published story and you're the kind of person who tends to be desperate for approval because you've been misunderstood for your entire life, you tend to put on blinders. It's awful that I was so starved for love that I fell for this shit.

"Lily, you're wonderful, this is the best story ever!"

Yeah...if your name is Lily and you've written a story, tell me that wouldn't make your heart (and ego) swell up 666 sizes too big!

But it's a sham. You look at the Devil card, and there it is. Lies and flattery. And I became a captive of that flattery. I would have done anything to get more of it.

Except there was a little part of me that was screaming "no, this is fucking WRONG!"

It was glamour, a siren song, a spell.

None of this wonderfulness had either Jack or Shit to do with me, or with what I'd written.

I could have plagiarized a manual on the care and maintenance of septic tanks and tacked onto the end "His Nibs says 'Don't forget to wipe your ass, Folks,'" and these types would have been as twitterpated as fans of both Twilight and Justin Bieber upon learning that Biebs was going to do the soundtrack for the next Twilight movie.

Nah...my writing skills, such as they may be, hadn't a damn thing to do with it. These individuals are, as one of the few real friends I made out of this whole mess said, "a flock of Find a Grave graspers."

I love this. Find a Grave graspers. Genius! And absolutely right.

These are dissatisfied women of various ages searching for the Demon Lover. Like Jim Morrison, His Nibs fills the bill. He's handsome, mysterious, brooding, Byronian, gives an air of danger and divine madness, and died young so he will always be all of those things.

I'm still torn about how I feel regarding having written the book. On one hand, I did make a handful of true friends that I still keep in touch with more or less. On the other hand I'm still recovering from the wounds I received upon realizing several ugly truths.

Most people are not open-minded, most are not kind, and most do not have the best interests of anyone but themselves in mind. There are a few shitty people (trolls) who really and truly enjoy hurting others. There are a handful of genuine good souls who are worth all the treasure the Earth has to give and then some.

Most, however, are not deliberately malicioius. They are simply self-absorbed. They don't give much thought to the consequences of their actions. They don't care who their actions hurt, so long as they get what they want.

I have come to the conclusion that the majority of people are neither good nor evil, just selfish.

In some ways, I'm glad I wrote the book.

But in other ways, I don't think I'll ever get over the trauma of dealing with the detractors and graspers.

Not to Worry...

RT @xsimplyquotes Oh no, don't worry about me. It's not like I have feelings or anything.




Love always to the late Ronnie James Dio, a man with much honor and class.

Ain't Found A Way to Kill Me Yet

Rooster


Ain't found a way to kill me yet


Eyes burn with stinging sweat


Seems every path leads me to nowhere



Wife and kids household pet


Army green was no safe bet


The bullets scream to me from somewhere



Here they come to snuff the rooster, aww yeah, hey yeah


Yeah here come the rooster, yeah


You know he ain't gonna die


No, no, no, ya know he ain't gonna die (x2)



Walkin' tall machine gun man


They spit on me in my home land


Gloria sent me pictures of my boy



Got my pills 'gainst mosquito death


My Buddy's breathin' his dyin' breath


Oh god please won't you help me make it through



Here they come to snuff the rooster, aww yeah


Yeah here come the rooster, yeah


You know he ain't gonna die


No, no, no ya know he ain't gonna die




More lyrics: http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/a/alice_in_chains/#share


Written by Jerry Cantrell, in honor of his father who served in Viet Nam. Read here for the story behind the song.

For my own part I was thinking of all the people in my history who have wanted to destroy me, either because I didn't belong to their narrow view of what people "should" be like, or because I had something they wanted and they couldn't stand it. Well, you fuckers ain't found a way to kill me yet. Maybe you should have done it right the first time, because a wounded animal is dangerous. Karma is a bitch and one day you'll get yours for the wrong that you did me.