Friday, October 20, 2017
Friday, June 9, 2017
Wednesday, June 7, 2017
Life is legitimately crazy. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I don’t really care what some dude sitting at some college somewhere says about how people should spell or write. I write like I talk. I’m talking to people through written words; why would I do it any other way? This isn’t a one way street.
It would be a lie to say it’s a phobia. It’s more of a hatred. All things bureaucratic to me are inane. I’ve read somewhere that intelligent people have a harder time at life for various reasons, and this is one of mine. My inability to do dumb shit, just because someone else says so, makes my life hard. Keeping track of everything on paper is dumb; I am a monkey damnit. I didn’t sign up for the circus.
I really need to get over myself.
We are monkeys though, and as such, we literally evolved for communal life. That’s what nepotism is. It’s not my fault Christians fucked that up. Am I right? As if we couldn’t follow the archetype of Christ, and live communally? Shit is absurd. Anyways.
My goal was, and is, to be so deep in this gardening game that I can’t be told no. Remember? I’m stuck between two cultures. This one culture is sheepled to the max. Such types never like me. They must always get the facade. Unfortunately, they are the ones in charge of the paperwork. To be clear; it is the ones that sign the paychecks that run the show.
At the youth center where the garden is; there are rules. Lots of rules actually. It’s a safe spot for kids. I can logically wrap my mind around why all the rules are necessary. Lots and lots of rules saved me once up a time. Matter of fact, for a very long time I would tell people prison saved my life if for no other reason, than for once in my life, when I woke up in the morning; I knew exactly how it was going to go. I knew exactly how my day would be structurally all day errday.
In prison the structure is perfected. One eats at the same times errday. One gets lined up to be counted at the same times errday. One is allowed to get out of their cell, go into their cell, watch TV, play cards, lift weights, socialize, go to church, hang out; at the same times errday. This is a critical part of domestication. If children are raised by fucked up people, they most likely will not have had any structure at all. Structure of this kind feels safe. It is dependable. It eliminates tons of stress. One never has to worry about when they will get to eat, sleep, or shit. There are so many reasons kids need certain levels of structure. Life is very hard for anyone without this level of domestication.
I know this because it goes against my personality to do anything anyone tells me to do. Yet, I still needed this domestication, or how would I have ever gotten through life? It seems we all have to fit in together at a certain level, or we would be legitimately wild. A wild human. Well, like it or not, a wild human would not last long in this culture. In this culture Christianity has been purging the wild ones for thousands of years now. If one is wild, it can be felt by the domesticated ones and their autopilot is to destroy the wild ones.
Still though, I would never, and will never again unless I must; sign myself up for a background check. All my life that shit has haunted me. The stigma, the immediate placement at the bottom of the pecking order; a criminal. I really can’t believe I never killed myself. That is what society wanted after all. Anyone back then, who wasn’t a friend of mine, would have been all like; fuck that guy, lock him up, and leave him there.
There was a time when I was still really bitter about it all. I would trick people into talking about how they would treat violent criminals, then look them right in the eye and tell them I was one. Is that what they would do to me? I would always make sure they had known me for awhile first. You could see the nepotism kick in. They would always back track, but I knew the truth; just another stupid monkey.
I was trying to sneak by. If I wanted to go inside the youth center to talk to the kids about the gardening project, I had to follow the rules. They are telling me all that really matters is that I have never harmed a child. Pedophilia. That kind of thing. There was a great deal of ambiguity about it though, because it wasn’t the people whom I was talking to, it wasn’t their decision. The background check was through a government website. I mean, I robbed a freaking bank. I had over thirty charges on the books before I was 17. I can’t remember honestly how many times I’ve been arrested. They were running a legit background check.
I got arrested once merely for having been to prison. Cops showed up, someone says, “he’s been to prison.” Cuffed, and in the car I go. Spent twenty four hours in a holding tank on “investigation”. I was in my own yard, at the house where I lived. If a highway patrol pulls me over, and I’m sitting in his car, and I hear my name come back over the airwaves, I always hear the code words for potentially armed and dangerous. Being the sensitive guy I am, I can always feel the energy change at that moment in time. It’s instant. I can feel it go from just regular old guy, because I yes and no sir them, polite as fuck, like I’ve been in the military; to this guy who is now a fucking douche. I can see them think about where their weapons are, as if I were never not doing that the whole damn time.
All the jobs I was smart enough to get, but never could get, made me very bitter. Even if I had not been raised like an animal, never been abused, never even went to prison, but merely had the label attached to my name; life would suck. You know, kind of like a government goof up, where any time anyone runs a background check it turns up “armed and dangerous.” Life is going to suck if that’s the case. There were many times I couldn’t even get a shit factory job. And I was abused, I was raised like an animal, so I have a goddamn shine in my eyes. As if I can do anything about that.
I can’t tell someone who doesn’t know me at all what I did without twenty questions ensueing. I can’t say anything about much of my past at all without suddenly someone being all up in my business. My life did not take the standard sheeple trajectory. My private introverted ass does not care for this intrusion in my life. I prefer it to be up to me, who knows what when. I’ve lived where I live now for almost three years and no one has known about my past. It was a nice reprieve. A vacation if you will.
The whole time I’ve been doing this gardening thing I’ve been so anxious. It was going to be awhile sneaking past that background check. Wasn’t like there was going to be at time, or calendared spot that says, “now safe from having to do a background check.” I was signed up for a long wave, but the wave crashed.
I got put to it. They were being pushed by the paycheck signers to handle business. I don’t blame them or anything. I’d do my job too. If my job was to protect, look out for, and provide a safe place for kids, I’d run a background check on anyone that came within a hundred feet of the building if I could to make sure they were not a pedophile. This is a rape culture; pedophiles are errwhere.
I’m off the grid. I have not had a bank account for over a year now. Luckily for them, they gots the computers right there. She proffered her own debit card to seal the deal. Stuck like chuck.
For days I paced. Waiting. I was preparing myself for the bad news. I find it best to go ahead and start doing emotional work before big events in life. Prepare for the worst; hope for the best is my motto. I was even having strangers pray for my well being. Now you know it’s serious. Everything had been so harmonious. Everything had fell into place so naturally. I was betting on that, because honestly, that’s all I got.
I got the email from the government. I had to keep re-reading it. I couldn’t tell what it was saying. Nowhere on it did it say denied, or approved. The email was encrypted for my privacy. Super official government stuff in my eyes. The land where I do not belong. The land where I’m magically at the bottom.
I call the lady who put me to the background check. I tell her I got this email, and can’t tell what it means. She tells me that it would be very clear about being denied, if that were the case. I tell her it doesn’t say anything like that. She says, “You’re good to go.”
I just cried.
I cried for awhile actually.
Now; it really is go time. That was the only dead weight I had.