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| https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seed_of_Chucky |
My life changed with the economy, just as it has for millions of Americans and billions of people worldwide. I didn't like it, but I did accept it. Instead of keeping up with someone's rat race, I now run my own, every single day. This is the best job I've never had, precisely because it isn't just some paycheck that some random generic stranger spits out of a payroll system every week, regardless if I am working there or not. Corporations are not people, but you, my audience, most certainly are. Just like there is no course or school curriculum that can create a "Master Illuminator" in this century using the latest (or not) technology, so there is no college class in being me.
Part of that change is accepting what resources you have available to you, rather than expecting some pricey company to buy stuff for you. Luckily, I do not derive my ego off of man-made gadgets (that must be horrible), desperately lining up like a million other compulsive addicts at the "launch" of some new device. That sounds mad, and it certainly looks that way on t.v. I can wean myself off of pop culture anytime I want to. I went for years without a television set, which freaks out almost everyone I meet, except for the most backwoods hippie kid with wacky survivalist parents who are anti-The World. I simply couldn't afford a pricey t.v., nor did I need it, so I went without it.
Ditto with computers, cameras, Internet...etc. If I don't have the money to buy one of them, I find a way to have access to it, which is why I freely publish to you off of the community WiFi: that's "no overhead" for you business douches, and sometimes it means I traverse difficult public environments that I do not control, like the bank of cheap computers that are available at most public libraries. It sucks, but so did most of the junior designers in any given department on any day, at any publishing company across the U.S (or the world). It's not new, it's not great, but I'm here for you, glitches and all, which makes it the most transparently published site in the world. No ads, no agendas. Simple. Just me.
That pisses off a lot of people, a lot of people, especially the wacky conspiracy theorists/indigents who frequent public spaces for warmth, or to nod off their recent heroin high. It's brutal, but it is real. I've seen it. Government employees typically care more about maintaining their steady paycheck than policing the people who visit their library every single day, but such is the mostly selfish nature that typically marks lower minds than mine. I don't publish just to my peers, know what I mean? And so, on any given day, I can be typing to you while listening to music and hugging it out with my special friends from the ARC community (Hi, friends!), or concentrating through your obvious eating disorder and rank bad breath, as your overstuffed hoarder car sits outside, parked askew by the curb. It's not my choice or design, but here I am: your beacon of light in the nighttime of your disorder.
Given how much time I spend out in the world, I'm used to the wider ranges of the human experience at the bipolar extremes of your insanity, with the understanding that my beauty and brilliance draws "wack jobs" like moths to a flame. If they don't "catch" me out in public, they plan for it, like the deranged stalkers they really are.
It's utterly revealing to me. So, on one fine day, a total nut-job from the local chapter or "Dipshits Anonymous" stopped by to heckle me here, while he sat at a public computer doing absolutely nothing but look at me out of the corner of his eye. I know when people seek to engage me, and if I'm done with my work, I use any extra time I have to lecture to you all, if I can, which is what I did on this particular afternoon.
He was a rather garden-variety wacko: a "Right to Life" idiot who dissembles under any type of intellectual scrutiny. Within minutes of our "talk" (which I'm loathe to use as a term suitable for him), he hated my attention. First, he pointed out that he was the deranged nephew of a famous New York politician to justify his rudeness towards me (arrogance as the first sign of weakness=check), backing up his hippy-style ranting by his woven rainbow bracelet (a symbol of successful pot smokers worldwide), to show me that he doesn't trust "The Man", hence his obvious outsider status within his very successful family, thus making him available for viewing during normal daylight business hours: the black sheep who can't work=got it.
He quickly directed me towards his conspiracy du jour: women and their bodies. He hates them. Oh, okay. Gay AND crazy. Check that one off, too. To show me how much disdain he has for the female body, he let me know that he knew all about biology (but wouldn't tell me where or how, which makes me suspect that he's a high school dropout), but that he rejects it. Oh. Delusional, too! Wow, this is just getting better and better for me. Whenever I calmly answered him with logical, non-ranting types of answers grounded in rigorous scholarship, he seemed like he was about to implode right next to me.
He ballooned himself up, becoming confused, red-faced, and apoplectic in front of me in under ten minutes, which was a new personal best. I love stripping people of their false delusions.
Since it became obvious rather quickly that he had no firsthand knowledge of anatomy, probably because he can't perform sexually with a partner due to his own rotting brain and complete lapses with any decent healthcare, he backed himself into a corner very quickly.
I was horrified and embarrassed for him. I hate the feeling that I am causing hurt to someone who's disabled, but he sought me out.
He talked over me manically, become more panicky by the second.
He blurted out over and over the same weird lingo that has no basis in reality; the speech of the demented, in a mantra that he seemed to think would soothe his fevered delusions: "Partial birth <pause> partial birth <slight pause, then it sped up to cover over me>partialbirthpartialbirthpartialbirthpartialbirthpartialbirth..."
When he slowed down enough for me to inquire through his stuttering psychotic episode, I asked him why he thought there existed such a hallucinatory haunted house movie-version of women's healthcare, in an odd scenario I haven't never heard of, nor seen, or read about...ever. Why? He told me it was true. That was it. He had thought it up, and therefore it must be real. He thinks women go to some scary evil doctor to give birth to a baby while the doctor chops it head off slowly. Swear. At that point, I reached into my bag, pulling out a black "Illuminations" collectible sticker that I hand out in public, to give to him as a reminder in the future about how badly he fucked up with me, and then I put headphones back on to signal the end of our brief chat, but not before I slowly pulled out a set of rosary beads that I carried with me, showily draping them over the edge of my bag that sat by the computer station I worked at. End of discussion.
Because, dear readers, what that kook in the wild did not know about me (surprise!) is that my man Father Stephen at my home parish of St. Francis of Assisi in West Nyack had asked me on the phone years ago about whether not it was prudent for us to allow such extremist firebrands into our intellectual community for their weekly meetings, to which I replied "Of course"! Who better than him, someone who has devoted his entire life and vocational service to tending all of you, to chair what amounts to a bloodier version of "Alcoholics Anonymous" on any given day? If not me, try him. I dare you, because he's a master educator, too. Booyah! Oh, no, son...you did not see that one coming at you, did you? No! You didn't! Oh, yes. I did.
For those of you mature enough to look at images that depict what a woman's early miscarriage looks like in "human", please click on the following link: http://s1161.photobucket.com/user/sandraebey/media/019.jpg.html. That...that's it. All of your horribly misguided fears and insane paranoia is centered over some blood and tissue that most women naturally develop (and flush out of their bodies) each and every month. That's it! Thanks to Sandra for the images. You go, girl! Please feel free to explore this scientific topic that's existed for all of of humanity on your own: https://www.google.com/?gws_rd=ssl#q=what+an+early+miscarriage+looks+like.
Don't hate the seed, nor the carrier. It's just nature, yo. Chill! And take a class or two, will ya....geesh: http://www.butterflybirth.com/how-many-eggs-is-a-female-human-born-with/. Ignorance is hell!
