My Life So Far (really rough draft)

Not gonna do a bunch of small talk. Just getting this out.


MOTHER: Growing up in Los Angeles with her skitzophrenic mother was not easy. At all. Grandma was deranged to the point that she felt sending out my five year old mom at twelve o' clock in the morning in downtown LA to get a gallon of milk was okay. For obvious reasons, I can't get into much detail, however. Just know there was abuse aplenty. So after twelve years of that, mom got some sense and left; moving on to live with her aunt, still in LA.Still not a walk in the park, but considerably better than the previous. Then she barely graduated high school and got into some deep shit, which, again, I can't delve into. But she met my dad on a bus stop, on her way to sell her body to a businessman.

FATHER: Most of this is from what I read in an autobiography he did for a night class. His parents got divorced when he was pretty young, and he ended up living with his mom and the boyfriends she constantly had. But apparently, his mom didn't have great taste, cause they would repetitively get drunk and beat on him and his mom. I remember one particular story, in which on Thanksgiving day, the bf got drunk, flipped the table over, knocking all the food onto the floor, and proceeded to beat on his mom. My father tried to stop him, but due to his size and age, only succeeded to get beat as well. So at some time, his mother got really sick, was hospitalized, and died on christmas morning, leaving behind him and his sister in grief. They both spiraled into depression; him getting into drugs and alcohol, her developing an eating disorder. Dad was in and out of jail from twelve years old, spending in California's infamous Folsom prison on high security. But he converted to Christianity in prison, got out, got clean, became a minister in a pretty decent sized church, then met my mother. Love. Sex. Then Me.


ME: Born to Anthony and Rosalind McNeill on September 30, 1996 in Los Angeles, California. Great first year; no money issues, dad stayed clean, had my sister in '98, then problems began. Dad got back on drugs, moved to Columbia, TN, so we could live with dad's step mom (grandma). Divorce. Then mother met my (now) ex-step father, got pregnant with my little brother, married esd and moved to Louisville, KY. I don't really think much of my esd. We never had much of a relationship. I honestly don't remember a single on-dad's-knee-type conversation with him. So when mom divorced him, I was generally unaffected. But before that, I had resumed my educational journeys at the prestigious Goldsmith elementary school, where I met the always wonderful Ms.Simamora, who will no doubtedly be reading this at one time or another. But i got put in advanced classes there, and stayed there though my education up until last year. But at some point, my mother began to transform into an abusive, tyrannical monster. I got punched kicked, slammed into walls, hit with boots, pushed onto stove burners, etc etc. Not a fun time. That time period is slowly coming to and end, but me and mom still have issues. bleh. that's enough for tonight.

Land of the Free, Home of the Brave

I don't know if you remember your years as a youngster in elementary school, so let me tell you about them. You were lied to. When I enteres elementary school in the lil old town of Columbia, Tennessee, I was taught quite a lot. But one thing that was viciously hammered into my head was that America is the greatest nation in the world. Other countires were crawling over each other, trying to get ahead of us. We had the best of everything: the best health care, the best schools, and the best citizens. Even before I was taught the alphabet, I was taught to put my hand over my heart and pledge my allegiance to a country I was horribly lied to about. Doesn't that seem a little strange? That false impression being indoctrinated into the children's heads. We call ourselves the land of the free, and the home of the brave. But are we free? Are we brave? What kind of free citizens line up around the damn block to surrender their civil liberties as a requisite to travel? What kind of free citiens allow themselves to be torrerized and abused by garbage such as the PATRIOT Act? What kind of brave people shit themselves tih fear eveytime a black guy gets on a bus with them, or when a guy with a turban wants to ride on an airplane? We are repeatedly fed war propoganda and lies intended to incite irrational panic in order to keep us in line (sound familiar, George Orwell?), and we don't even realize it. (hed) p.e.'s song "Bloodfire" phrases it greatly: "One by one, the sheep start to realize; tow by tow we expose this world of lies". Now realize that I am not a conspiracy theorist. I do not believe that the goverment is trying to kill us, or is part of a plan for intergaltactic conquest, or whatever. But I do realize that YOUR GOVERMENT (if you're American, anyways) SEES YOU AS SHEEP. YOU ARE BUT A MEANS TO KEEP THE POWERFUL IN POWER, AND KEEP THE RICH IN CONTROL OF THE WEALTH. Your congress is run by multi-national cooporations that use the Senators and House members as mouthpieces for their fiscal gain and total social control. Are they brave? Are YOU brave? Ask yourself, arew you even willing to protest about something anymore? What happened to that spirit, that American spirit of rebellion that made it what is once was? "When the government turns tyrannical, it is your duty to overthrow it." But could we even do that? One of my favorite quotes, that I'll end with, "If Jesus came back today to save the world, the CIA would have him killed or fear of taking over."

Teens Pt.1

I weep for my people. This generation of youth is one that tops every other in its unmitigated selfishness and lack of understanding. They say we are the generation that will take our planet to a level that it’s never been before. But I believe that the only place we'll effectively lead it is straight to Hell. Here's why:




YOUNG WOMEN: Do this as an experiment (this is for the total of probably two girls that read this blog, but guys are welcome to do it also). Stand in front of a full-body mirror naked and stare at yourself. Look over every inch of your body for at least five minutes, then come up with as many adjectives as you can that you feel appropriately describe you. Now, I'm willing to bet that most of you did not write “beautiful”, “natural”, or anything else that truly describes what you are. Why do I know this? Because teen girls as a whole have horrible self-esteem. But every single young woman reading this is very, very beautiful, has potential to be extremely intelligent, but just as much as they are these things, they do not often realize it. AS much as I love these girls, I feel an emotion that can only be properly described as a combination of rage and pity when they say "I'm not pretty," or "I'm stupid." There are specific girls I could mention but I won't, so I'll simply say that YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. You are a gorgeous young woman who needs to learn the lesson of judging by your own standards, and not by this world's. The simple fact is, not everyone is destined to look like a Barbie doll with a size negative two waist, but your natural beauty is so far ahead of that it's indescribable. I honestly wish that every girl could look in the mirror and see what I see: the naturally aesthetic creature they were born to be. But girls have become obsessed with creating their beauty, whether it be with makeup or with a thinner waist or whatever. The concept that having a round ass and D cup boobs means beauty is so drilled into their heads it's sickening. The concept of "natural beauty" is lost on most of them. I have a good friend, who happens to be a girl, who because of some past issues can understandably feel less than positive about her image. I'm not going to go into any specifics, but by what limited communication we've had, we've become extremely close. This may be a hard concept for some to grasp, but I love this girl to death and do not feel an urge to have sex with her. Shocking, I know. But the point is that this girl is extremely beautiful, and because of past events, may not be in total agreement. This is understandable. Not very pleasing, but understandable. However, if you are a stuck-up, pretentious cheerleader whose had everything you've wanted in life and still cannot feel content with yourself, you're just sad. You are a poor excuse for a human being. Not that I'm saying very much, but you are simply pathetic. Most girls with low self-esteem have no credible reason for it. Okay, so maybe a past boyfriend called you a slut one time. So you fall into a pit of unworthiness and total self-criticism? IDIOT. TOTAL. IDIOT. Now, if you feel that way, I'll still love you. I just won't like you very much. And that’s another hard concept that requires attention. Pay attention to this statement: YOU, BEING A TEEN GIRL, DO NOT UNDERSTAND SYNONYMS. Loving someone and being in love with someone are two totally different things. I love my sister, but just because I live in Kentucky doesn't mean I'm IN LOVE with my sister. Fine examples of words incorrectly used interchangeably:



* Pretty and beautiful

* Music and mainstream rap

* Skinny and healthy

* Ignorant and stupid

* Stupid and retarded

* Lil Wayne and talented musician

* Weird and unique

* verbal abuse and physical abuse

* outcast and loner

* emo and goth

* police and law enforcement

* love and lust

* desire and passion

* hipster and unique

* blunt and rude

* nice and pushover



And I could go on and on and on. But the point is, for some strange reason, we feel as if we can switch words back and forth in different contexts and still get the same meaning. There are a few words that are interchangable (ie. big and large, funny and humorous, smart and intelligent, etc.), but they're in the minority. Most of the time, we humans like to feel samrt by substituting big words that don't fit for smaller words that make more sense. How do you not realize how plain dumb that is? How do you not realize that saying "I don't like Mexicans" isn't rude, but honest? How do you not realize that weighing ninety pounds when you're six feet tall is not healthy, no matter how tight a shirt you can fit when you are? How do you girls not realize that your hips do not make your identity? Whatever, I'm done.


I'll rant about boys in the next post.

Peace.
 
 
Song of the day: I Just Had Sex by The Lonely Island

So it’s been a little while, and I’ve just been bubbling with stuff to share with you, my precious audience, but I’ve simply been lacking the time/attention span/resources to. But while I sit in my room at home, I figured I’ll just type up my blog here and post it later when I have internet access. Ah, the wonders of technology. Let’s delve into our painfully long journey, shall we?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1. Otep’s new album “Atavist” was a disappointment. Not that I like her for her ability to load an album full of amazing tracks or anything, there’s normally one or two worth repeated play and a bunch of fillers. I sincerely hope that the Beastie Boys’ new album coming out tomorrow (today when you’re reading this) will live up to the Boys’ solid reputation. Also, I recently discovered a bunch of awesome bands, including The Mouth of Ghosts, Atreyu, Bad Rabbits, Our Last Night, Close Your Eyes, and I’m looking into more Dragonforce stuff besides just Through the Fire and Flames. All for music. 
2. Saturday evening, I and a few other fellows went to a popular local skating rink, called Skate World. Mistake. I think I started to realize things were a bit awry when I spotted a couple of girls looking no more than fourteen years old loitering outside and smoking cigarettes. But hey, teenagers do that right? Not a big deal or anything. So we go inside, the air is musty, the music sucks, the food is overpriced, the teens are waaaaay too skinny/trendy/uninteligent, and the cops by the door keep trying to make us get skates when we make it abundantly clear that we are not skating. Stupid cops.
3. And now, of course, Osama bin Laden. We killed him, for those who didn't know. My initial reaction was just shock, since I figured he was just dead. But then I felt nothing but pity, when I watched the news and saw the people of America practically dancing in the streets, rejoicing over their enemy's death like some primitive tribal ceremony. Even a bar downtown here gave out free chamopagne in celebration. That's just sickening to me. The people have been forcefed so much propoganda that they practically do whatever the government asks of them upon request, as long as the gov't kills enemies that never were a huge threat anyway. Yes, you read correctly. OSAMA BIN LADEN WAS NEVER A THREAT TO YOU. Granted, he killed some people, and I'm not undervaluing that. But just think; what else did he do? Can you even tell me? Think about it.

To be continued.

 

Enlightened (working title)

So the other day, I sat at my computer and started to type. This is what came out. There's more, but this is just the prologue to a novel I may possibly actually complete.







I am first aware of the cold. No introduction or gentle easing, just brutal cold that seems to envelope my entire body, seep into my pores and permeate my very mind. It is then I become aware of my nakedness. Opening my eyes, the brilliant cerulean of the dateless sky is meshed with gray undertones that give further evidence for the previous rain. Realizing I’m lying on my back, I quickly arise from the damp pavement and hurry to shield my nudity, wincing at the pain at the end of my tailbone. Once I’m covered however, my sense of exposure is suddenly overshadowed by the palpable feeling of utter loneliness. Upon glancing to my left and right, I see that I’m standing in the middle of a cracked blacktop road that stretches in both direction for miles that can’t be measured, accented by the periodic dashes of yellow, and surrounded by massive oak trees emerging from the luscious green grass, with leaves that splish…splash…onto the road. Combined with the bitter wind and total openness, I can think of nothing but how to get out. The sky’s emotionless hues only further the looming sense of being encaged in this world, as a rat in a maze.


Glancing around in all directions, it’s not long before a sinking deja vú develops. This place is not new to me, though minutes before I would have sworn that I’d never been here in my life. Wait…minutes before? Where was I, minutes before? What was I, minutes before? As if this all wasn’t enough, that old bastard Dread starts to creep in and whisper to me. There’s no one here, He says. Deny it you may, but you’re all alone again. But I refuse to accept that. Turning more 360s, my desperate gaze falls upon a house, amidst a clearing of trees and grass that I would’ve bet my life was not there earlier. Then again, I can’t be sure of much at all in this place, especially not my apparently failing memory.

The longer I stare at that house however, my thoughts concerning how I got here fade in importance when compared to what could be inside. Two stories made of rotting wood and siding, three out of four shattered windows on the front, and painted a color that was probably once a bold forest green but is now a peeling pistachio, its presence is far from appealing. But when a bone-chilling sweep of wind floods throughout every crevice and fold of my quickly numbing bare flesh, I make the decision to enter the house, if only for temporary shelter from the relentless cold. Taking a couple quick glances to check again for any sort of human activity, I hear a faint rustling in the trees to my right cut through the silence.

Snapping my head towards that direction like a bird (which, by the way, there are none of), I simultaneously dismiss it as wind and believe it to be my rescuer. “Hello?” I yell tentatively. Then hysterically, “Hello?! Please, someone answer me!” Unconsciously applying George Orwell’s concept of doublethink, I’m disappointed and not surprised at the same time. At this point, I’m not sure if another person would even be reassuring; I feel as if nothing could assure me in this terrible trench of despair I seem to have fallen into. Don’t get your hopes up sonny, you’re all alone. Alllll alooooone…I push Dread out of my thoughts and reassess my decision. Should I stay, naked and freezing in this God-forsaken length of road and wait for someone to come out, when they very well may never? Another torrent of icy breath combs through my hair, bathing my nakedness and seemingly urging me forward. Doing one last look-around before I do, I proceed to walk toward the house.

Though I suppose the temperature and initial shock must’ve numbed my observational skills, I found it startling that I failed to notice one particular detail of the house; within a five to six yard radius around it, not a single thing is growing. As I approach the building, I notice that the living grass forms a perfect circle around the structure, abruptly cut off by an invisible line of infertility. Not one blade of grass, not one measly dandelion even dares to rear its head from below the topsoil. This observation deeply troubles me, though I suppose it can easily be explained with use of pesticides and other such chemicals. Dread, acting as my voice of reason, tells me that it’s got to be more than that, and you know it. I do know it, and that’s what scares me. Regardless, I only lengthen my stride and continue toward the house.

Feet sore and bleeding from treading unprotected on the pavement, the grass, softened by rain, is the only relief I feel I’ll get for a long time. You’re sure you wanna do this, are you? I silence Dread again, though His question rings through my head. You’re sure you wanna do this? Am I? The answer is an indubitable, resounding “NO”, but as I see it, there are no better options. This debating inside me seems to have quickened my pace, because now I’m staring at the front door, and feeling as if Dread’s kicking down mine. I pause, muster up all of my remaining courage, and turn the knob.




Comments, reviews, etc. are welcome.

Jesus.

Happy late Easter.
In celebration of this fine holiday, the topic today: Christianity.

*For the record: this is no attempt to Convert anyone to my religion. Though it'd be great if you did, do not feel as if I am forcing anything upon you, because I am not all. Thank you*

Don't worry, I'm not going to bash Christians. Most of them anyway, mainly because I happen to be one of those Christians. I don't have a problem with Christianity in general anyway. Some small logistics are a little confusing, but overall I'd say I've got the hang of it. I know for sure I could tell you more about the bible than your preacher could, especially if you're Catholic. Not boasting, simply stating what I know.

I was/am being raised in a Christian household. Father was a minister, mother sings in the choir (but I refuse to spoil this blog with talk of her), and I've been in the church my whole life. Though I believe in Christianity, I have a problem with the church, in general. Not mine though; my church kicks arse. Though I beleieve the bible to be true, the indoctrination from such an early age bothers me at times. So many times, if I ask someone why they partake in what religion they do, the answer is "I was born into it". Not neccessarily a bad thing, but if you don't know anything about religion other than your own, you are a drone; simply participating in a religion because it's all you know. You have blind faith, which is not very strong at all. Now as for me, the proof lies in simple things. Evangelists healing people with tumors and deformities (I had the opportunity to see Benny Hinn once, and it was quite the experience), for one. I saw people pushing their own wheelchairs out of that building, because they didn't need them anymore. Crooked legs becoming straight, tumors shriveling up and dissapearing, and countless other miracles. Now, either it's all part of some mass conspiracy, in which they must have loads of money for special effects, of it's an actual modern-day manifestation of the healing powers of God. You tell me.

Another thing I find interesting about Christianity's validity is the tangible evidence. For example; Buddha is dead. We know that. Confucius is dead. Muhammad's grave is even a holy site for Muslims. But go to Israel, and show me Jesus' corpse. Oh, wait HE ASCENDED INTO HEAVEN. The fact is, we know he lived, and we know he died. I know he was ressurected, but if you don't, then oh well. You can't argue the power an affect this man had, when in only three years of ministry he became the most influential person to ever walk the planet. And yes, though Jesus is part of the Holy Trinity, he is, in fact, a man.

Even if you don't believe in Jesus Christ, the Bible itself cannot be reasoned away. It's power and authority is practiced daily by hundreds of thousands of Christians. True Christians anyway, ones who know and excercise their authority. (For Christians who don't know their authority; Luke 10:19 KJV says 'Behold, I give unto you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy: and nothing shall by any means hurt you." Those words are written in red, by the way.) Even simple things, like the book of Proverbs, show the vast wisdom and knowledge of God. Example: Proverbs 26:11 (I believe) says "As a dog returns to his vomit, so a fool repeats his folly." Does a fool repeat his foolish actions? Does a dog eat his potentially poisinous vomit? Is this scripture wrong?

Lastly, I close with my personal favorite passage of scripture, Isaiah chapter 53 NIV, a prophecy concerning Jesus' crucifixion, written hundreds of years before Christ was born.

1 Who has believed our message
and to whom has the arm of the LORD been revealed?
2 He grew up before him like a tender shoot,
and like a root out of dry ground.
He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him,
nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.
3 He was despised and rejected by mankind,
a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.
Like one from whom people hide their faces
he was despised, and we held him in low esteem.

4 Surely he took up our pain
and bore our suffering,
yet we considered him punished by God,
stricken by him, and afflicted.
5 But he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
and by his wounds we are healed.
6 We all, like sheep, have gone astray,
each of us has turned to our own way;
and the LORD has laid on him
the iniquity of us all.

7 He was oppressed and afflicted,
yet he did not open his mouth;
he was led like a lamb to the slaughter,
and as a sheep before its shearers is silent,
so he did not open his mouth.
8 By oppression and judgment he was taken away.
Yet who of his generation protested?
For he was cut off from the land of the living;
for the transgression of my people he was punished.
9 He was assigned a grave with the wicked,
and with the rich in his death,
though he had done no violence,
nor was any deceit in his mouth.

10 Yet it was the LORD’s will to crush him and cause him to suffer,
and though the LORD makes his life an offering for sin,
he will see his offspring and prolong his days,
and the will of the LORD will prosper in his hand.
11 After he has suffered,
he will see the light of life and be satisfied;
by his knowledge my righteous servant will justify many,
and he will bear their iniquities.
12 Therefore I will give him a portion among the great,
and he will divide the spoils with the strong,
because he poured out his life unto death,
and was numbered with the transgressors.
For he bore the sin of many,
and made intercession for the transgressors. '


Song of the Day: Jesus (of Nazareth) by (hed) p.e.

I Should've Shoved a Paintbrush Down His Throat

So in art class today, I was sketching sad clowns. In general, I'm a pretty good drawer-I'm not even sure that's really a word-so I look at my drawing and say it's pretty good. He had his little party-type hat with polka dots on, little jacket with matching polka dots, makeup around his eyes and lips, cute lil nose, and painted eyebrows. However, upon close inspection I realized that Mr.Clown's ears were not leveled at all. I never really had a taste for Picasso, so I figured I'd just redraw it with correct proportions. As I resketched, some douchebag kid comes up and asks why there are cheeto puffs over my clown's eyes.
I looked at Mr.Clown.
I looked at the kid.
I looked back at Mr.Clown.
I looked at the kid again.
And you know what I said?
"SHUT THE F*** UP!!!!" I then procceded  to hurl the kid through the nearest window with my titanic strength.
Then I snapped out of my daydream, and kindly informed the child that they were painted eyebrows over his eyes, not cheeto puffs. (By the way, I am in no way the owner, inventor, or in any way affiliated with Cheeto Puffs or Cheeto brand snack foods, or Frito-Lay brand, or whoever makes those things. Copyright suit: avoided.) But apparently, he was either blinded by hunger or just plain stupid, because he insisted on telling me my clown must have missed his mouth during snack time.
If you're familiar with my blog at all, you know by now that I have an immense contempt for simple asinine stupidity. Being in the school setting I was in however, I practiced my self-restraint and proceeded to once again tell the kid that they were in fact, eyebrows, NOT CHEETO PUFFS. But you know, some people just don't get it. This was one of those people. So before I wrapped my hands around his throat and never let go, I simply walked away.

Kids, just walk away.

I think it's a combination of the hair and tongue ring, but this picture is really kinky.

Song of the day: Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd
                          Awesome Deftones cover