Tag Archives: emo

All the leaves are green

Oops. So this year so far that’s three blog posts. Well, three counting this one. Yes, as usual, there have been distractions. Nazis? Well, of course, they’ve all slid out from under their rocks, now Trump has made them out to be nice guys, mostly, with the fact that they are in favour of killing Jews, Muslims, women who have abortions, women who vote, People of any Colour, and anyone who says “whoa!” not enough to stop him promoting them from the Oval Office.

Then there were the distractions that distracted me from the distractions and then…. yes, more distractions. I ended up banning myself from Twitter most of the time. Thanks to LeechBlock (simple and free, stops you wasting time on sites like Facebook or Twitter except in allowed times/days) i only visit about 1-2 times a day, no more than 30 minutes in any 6 hour block. It’s freeing, I enjoy my time more, and i no longer ‘come to’ four hours after i logged onto Twitter ‘just to say hello’. Most of the time, i only pop in every few days.

So here we are. Nearly October. Which is Spring in the Southern hemisphere, for the climatically-challenged among you.

Another year in Queensland. I know, i wanted to come back here, anything to get away from New South Wales and 9 months a year of crucifying humidity.

Turns out Queensland and 6 months a year of crucifying humidity with a much higher average temperature is about as hard to deal with. When i first lived here nearly 20 years ago, i had a pool.

Now i have an un-insulated house in an area so prone to mosquitoes, sandflies and midgies, i can’t go outside without spraying myself every few hours with insecticide. Especially hard to deal with are overnight highs of 25-30 (80’s to 90’s F) with 100% humidity – not just once, but for months on end.

I’m thinking of the South Pole next. Penguins, no mosquitoes, and less humidity? I’m in.

****

Meanwhile, my books are selling. Not a lot, but just. I phone Centrelink, report my monthly income, they laugh, so at least someone’s getting a kick out of my sales.

I’m working on other books – mostly stuff i’ve already written that i’m taking the bones from, rewriting and once-filleted, hopefully ready for publication. I’m also working on a follow up to the first set of four (first 2 are free, here) because i’m fond of Polo and want to see what happens to him now. Guilt, i’m guessing.

I’ve also dug out all my writing from the early 80’s on, filed it and scanned a lot of it, and finally have all my poetry (most of it) on the computer. Yes, that’s how long i’ve been writing, i have lots of stuff that was TYPEWRITTEN!

Some was even *drumroll* hand-written. In script. Which these days, would be as safe as a spy’s code, because nobody under 50 can read it. Of course, nobody under fifty (and a fair number of those over it) can write script any more, so my communication options would be limited.

The depression i’ve been struggling with this year/last year/most of my life is still biting, but i’m fighting. The main trick with depression? Remember, it lies. You’re not really hopeless, useless, or better off dead. Even if your family don’t understand you, that’s not a reason for suicide. If it was, the entire world would be looking for a cliff to jump off.

Anthony Bourdain’s ungraceful exit saddened me. If someone like him, with all that money, can’t be happy, what hope do i have? And i was reminded. Happiness is. It is not external. It is not money. It’s inside, and achievable simply by relaxing and focusing our gaze inwards. Sometimes, sure, we don’t like what we see, but that’s normal.

We can change. That’s what humans do well. Change, mutate, adapt. It’s how we got here.

I for one, intend to keep going. Hope you do too. The calm centre is right there. Right now. I know it. Just because today i am filled with bitterness and tears, it doesn’t make it disappear, or be a fraud. Depression is the fraud. It twists life, even the most beautiful, into an unrecognisable vale of tears.

So, love to you if you need it. Love to me too.

copyright 2018 https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com

 

 

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Die Already, Emo

To be clear, when i say emo, i’m not necessarily talking about moody teens following a musical fashion, with long fringes and too small tshirts. That’s pretty normal teen behaviour, wanting to be different by dressing exactly the same and writing very bad poetry.

My emos are those who exist to milk your pity, otherwise known as the professional victims.

I am NOT talking about the genuinely depressed.

Here’s a therapist’s account of dealing with professional victims. As she says, The victim posture is the ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy. By wallowing in the passivity and supposed powerlessness of the victim, one becomes blind to all opportunities and outlooks that do not conform to the supine posture of the victim.

One might call it “self-victimization,” but the point is that it is voluntary.”

I quite often (just by law of averages, not intentionally) read emo blogs or Twitter profiles written by professional victims. I’ve found that emos come in all ages, and that men are just as happy to use misery to manipulate as women are.

There’s a fair number looking for money for nothing, others pretend to sell you something.  A pity purchase. Others are hoping for a pity fuck, or even a pity relationship. Many are hoping you will take pity action and donate to them or their cause, or write to the government on their behalf. I even had one saying “buy my book, help me help myself, instead of just handing your money straight to me like i was a charity case.” Um, yeah. But your book is crap.

They may be partnered, or not, the pro victim doesn’t stop whining because they find a partner, (especially if the old partner starts to realise they’ve been suckered, or the new partner is actually an emo too), and they’re happy to move on to a new sucker any time they find one.

Some of them whine on behalf of others “the poor [insert disadvantaged group/animal here] – feel sorry for them!!!!” and some run charities – some even do so without taking a wage and when they’re in need of charity themselves. Even when helping others, they have to be victims. It’s how they get off. It’s what gets those emo juices flowing. Mmmm….  suffering. Woo hoo!

Oops, did emo just lose their home because they weren’t paying attention to real life? No problem, they can write a blog about it, and garner lots of attention. Of course, using their (poor homeless) kids to manipulate your emotions is part of the deal. Münchhausen’s Syndrome, where people deliberately make themselves ill for medical attention, is classic professional victim. Münchhausen’s by Proxy, where they harm their children to get attention, is too.

Emos are addicted to trying to manipulate emotions by exposing their suffering. However, you are not getting the whole story. That they made themselves homeless, ill, or poor, is never mentioned, except to show you how it’s never their fault. A lot of people stay a little wary, thinking there’s something not quite right, but others fall in head-first to the emo trap.

Once someone is sucked in by the pro victim, it’s like the sucker is in love. There is nothing you can do to make them see the truth. Even if you provide documentary evidence that their emo is actually a manipulative piece of pond-life, you will often be accused of lying to discredit the poor victim. Victim is the operative word – they must always be the victim, even when bravely speaking out on behalf of other people suffering in similar ways.

Ever told someone that the person they love is cheating on them? That their self-help guru stole all his/her ideas from Norman Vincent Peale (one of the first ‘self help gurus’)? If you haven’t, let’s just say that hell may have no fury like a woman scorned, but burst someone’s sucker bubble and you’ll find out what real hell is. The suckered may come to hate the one who suckered them, but they’ll hate you more. You will earn the enmity of both people. I know this from real life experience, more than once. It never works out well. For anyone.

I think that secretly, like the cuckolded do, suckers know when they’re being played – the signs are there. However, the suckers deliberately blind themselves to what the pro victim is doing – milking their pity and manipulating their emotions. Eventually, the sucker should come to their senses, usually when they notice something about the pro victim. Emos don’t want healing or practical help. If you leave a sympathetic note on their site, saying how they can get real help in their area, they will delete your post. If they followed your advice, they would have to pull their head out of their arse and stop whining.

The more they whinge, the more people pay attention. Pro victims have their metaphorical (and sometimes actual) hands down their pants over this – it’s better than sex or kink play, because they don’t have to give anything, they just whine and bitch and moan, and everyone pays attention! It’s something for nothing, which is exactly what they’re looking for. If you offer real help, especially the kind where they have to do something for themselves, you’re trying to stop their performance, and that makes you something to be destroyed.

Even if someone physically rescues them, the pro victim will be back in their chosen forum (Twitter, their blog, a chat room, MSN, the cafeteria), inside a week, complaining about how the place they’re in now has weird-coloured walls and they have to clean their own room. Not only that, their rescuer is being mean, because they say the pro victim should stop wallowing in self-pity.

So the emo complains and whinges some more, about how awful their current circumstances are. It’s so good, they may even cut themselves.  Someone comes along, says, “Oh, how dreadful, don’t you have anywhere else to go?” And emo has hooked another sucker.

I have this to say to emos…

You want to play the victim? Don’t come to me. I don’t tolerate you in real life, and I won’t online. I’m not interested in being a sucker for you. I’ve been there, done that, and consequently have a low threshold for bullshit. You want to cut yourself? Go ahead, sweetie, and can i help you find the vein so you do it properly? Emos are experts at not harming themselves when they cut – it’s not to kill themselves, it’s purely to get attention and to look tragic.

I knew one (in his 40’s, true emos are all ages), who would drive to the Emergency Department at his local hospital, and park within sight of it – so there would be no risk of him bleeding to death if he slipped with his sterile scalpels. He had dressings too. His mobile phone was right there, charged up, emergency services on speed dial, in case he couldn’t walk the 20m (20 yds) to the door. After a couple of hours in the A&E, getting all the attention he craved, he would come online, asking people if they wanted to see his cuts on webcam. Hysterically, (laugh or cry, your choice), he was on a kink dating site, advertising himself as a dominant male.

The best thing to do with emos – like all attention whores – is deny them the oxygen of attention. Yep, just ignore them. Occasionally remind others that if someone wants to stay miserable, it’s best to leave them that way. You see emos a lot on Twitter – people saying, “So and so was mean to me, everybody hate them on my behalf. i can has mai victimhood nao? kthxbai”

Some people even attract emos. If you feel you should help the helpless, watch out, you might just be on a hiding to nothing, trying to help someone whose idea of heaven is whining about all the reasons no one can help them. It’s very tempting to be mean when they turn on you for daring to say, “Well, happiness is a choice.” It’s not a choice to them, one doesn’t get attention for being happy. What are you, nuts?

That scent in the air is the scent of burning martyr, so a person being mean (or someone an emo can represent to others as being mean), is fodder for the pyre of their victimhood.

Still, sometimes, I just can’t help myself. I snap back.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com


Happy Birthday to Me

It’s been an interesting couple of weeks, at least virtually. I’ve had to block some people for being idiots on Twitter, not that it shut them up, but at least i didn’t have them on my main page – they were actually threatening to go cut themselves – eek, emo alert!

Unfortunately, the Twitter block function is imperfect. It doesn’t actually sodomise and then peel the person you aim it at. Wait, sodomy is more fun than they deserve… better make it sodomy with a cactus. And we could peel them with… well, this is what the Gleaming Instruments of Death were made for, maybe Twitter should call me.

Despite the fucktards,  i did get a popular blog post (see previous) out of the contretemps. (Popular for me does not mean millions… that one’s topped 200 on the bit.ly links, not best ever, but good.) I know this because I’ve been looking at my stats – world domination proceeds slowly but steadily, with occasional peaks when i get controversial.

Today is my birthday – yep, 49, which is too big a number to think about. Yes, 31st October, Halloween – seriously, what did you expect? Me being the Queen of Darkness wasn’t exactly an accident. Halloween is however, alien to my culture. Trick or treaters will be greeted with “It’s my birthday, where’s my present?” Funny, they all seem to run away when you put them on the spot.

While i’m waiting for the children to arrive, i thought i’d have a slight rant…

*****

Some of the top searches used to find this blog are:

pony, budgie, penectomy porn,  funny cats,  cameltoes and tattoos

It’s like i’ve been saying – Search Engine Optimisation Experts, Gurus, Entrepreneurs, and the rest of the people trying to flog you dead horses on Twitter are way behind me. Yes, not just eunuchs, budgies, camel toe, and tattoos, I’m getting a toehold in the “pony” market.

Hello little girls! Welcome! I was once like you. Longing for a pony of my own. For horses, i could and did get up at five a.m. to feed and groom, i mucked out stables and didn’t mind the heat, the cold, the rain, the smell of manure. I coped when horses bit, kicked, and trod on me.

I lived through them bucking me off, into lakes, rivers, trees, fences, and walls. With being wiped off on anything handy. With them getting over-excited and freaking out on a regular basis. I love horses, so it’s part of it.

It’s not some kind of privation – though of course one gets dusty, muddy, gashed, broken, bent, (this is because leather will imprint as one of your earliest sexual cues), and then thrown off into a prickle patch. It sounds awful, and no fun at all.

However, right now, crippled as i am, if you gave me a horse (and the wherewithal to keep it), i think i’d still happily drag myself out of bed at 5 am. There’s something about horses. I’m the same way with words. The infection lasted. “It’s just a stage she’s going through.” Nah, it was me. Who i am. I’ll always love horses and words. They bring me joy.

No matter how crap life is, just seeing a horse lifts my spirits. I can actually feel better about things if i just imagine being round them. I take myself riding, in my mind. I even feed and groom horses, saddle up, and pick out their feet. The familiar rhythms are all there, in my memories.

I start to write (when i’m not procrastinating, which doesn’t bring me joy, though it can be very productive in regard to getting anything but writing done), and as the words start to flow, i get a similar pleasure.

Some time ago, especially after an incident where in a short time, I had some rather close-to-death experiences, i decided to focus on what brings me joy. It’s not possible to completely avoid that which doesn’t, as i’m unfortunately trapped here on Earth with you humans – but i can certainly wipe out the effects of the dire.

Things like good whole food, being near water, and letting writing be a full time pursuit. I see horses most days, some live on the way to the shops. The food’s tricky, here in the sticks – it was easier to get good meat in suburban London. I used to go to the local Halal (Islamic) butcher when i lived in West Hampstead (though he was over the border in Kilburn). I wonder now if they’re still there. They were nice, even to me, a bare-armed, bare-headed, infidel woman.

Most people are just people, you know. Governments and religious leaders like to focus on the differences between us – divide and rule is their basic policy. Just note how many times they try to make you scared – but frankly, good people come in every colour, religion, and sexuality.

Complete maggots likewise. Of course, most people think their actions are justified. Let’s face it, even Hitler didn’t set out to be evil, he thought he was doing Germany and the world a favour. He thought it was logical. That exterminating human beings was inhumane didn’t matter, because he’d already decided – these were not humans.

Once you dehumanise your enemy, it’s easier for your people to kill them. One of the main problems for soldiers is that in order to keep killing, they have to see the enemy as less than human. We’re not actually designed for murder. With some exceptions.

See, i don’t see the Devil as some kind of external influence – i think we’re all creatures of duality – we’re all capable of both beauty and horror. Which one you manifest, is up to you. If you let yourself be filled up with rage, hate, and insecurity, if your entire life revolves around getting others to pay attention to your attention whoring, then hell, sugar, i’m going to block you on Twitter.

We all have these things inside us – i choose to manifest mine as funny blog posts. Not all of it – there’s a heck of a lot of energy i can use there. The poison others send me can be deflected, returned, or i can use the energy for something constructive, that brings me joy.

So i write. By the way – did you see? Someone found this blog while looking for “funny cats” – oh yeah, baby, i’m into Lolcat territory on Google Search.

Weez gonna be hooj.

****

In other news: in The Thing i am writing – the hero needed to be older – he was having sex, and i figured 13 was too young. Weirdly, i was basing his history on several people i know, but sometimes, fiction has to be toned down from real life.

I also discovered – once i’d stopped, corrected all references to age, adjusted his language and others’ behaviour to him – that i’d forgotten to note the timing of events in the narrative on a calendar, so i knew for instance, how long it was since his birthday. Then i realised one of the characters had broken the plot, so I’m currently sorting that. Silly bugger died before his time.

There’s a lot to keep track of, lucky i do love spreadsheets. I still refer to my synopses, outlines, and summaries of this first bunch of books, which i drew up using the Snowflake Method. They need tweaking of course, as the narrative changes, but that’s okay, there’s elasticity built in.

Tip: every so often, I save each current document or spreadsheet (if was Book01) as 02, then 03 and so on. This is in case you mess up and need to go back to a previous version. You can also use Word’s version tracker, which saves versions within a single document. In case of accidental deletion of single documents, i like to keep separate copies.

I once inserted an image over an entire document i had no copy of – so yes, i’m paranoid.

****

On the longer list of searches –

  • why smugglers
  • my house is trying to kill me
  • switchblade and a motorbike
  • realistic mannequins with pubic genital
  • i am not a whore

Why smugglers? I am not a whore? (The others make sense, blog titles or  I’ve blogged on them.)

And SEO experts want you to pay to get listed on Google? Lord above, with the way it works, how can you not be listed? Of course, you may not be listed under what you want to be.

I suppose Beloved Visitors might be miffed, if they arrive looking for penectomy porn and find me instead. On the other hand, thinking about it, the Queen of Darkness, with a bullwhip and a cattleprod, ready to run over you with a tank if you don’t donate to the Hello Kitty Kalashnikov Office Chair Fund, is probably just the woman you’re looking for.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com


i feel a need…

not sure what it is. I think, therefore I blog. Deep thought requires deep blogs. I’ve started and discarded about three ideas today. I don’t usually throw words away, but those i deleted completely.

I was sounding whiny. I hate that. When life gets on top of you and despite being basically a happy person you come off sounding like the worst kind of depressive emo. “Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, sitting in the garden eating worms.” A good description of emo – they make misery a self-fulfilling prophecy.That isn’t usually me.

This is a pic i did when i was premenstrual – this isn’t PMS, you still have that to experience. This is just “i’m feeling petulant because i went to the dentist this morning and i have a cold and i’m on antibiotics and i hate antibiotics and i have to take so many freaking pills now i RATTLE WHEN I WALK!”

Ahem. Sorry about that. *checks date* Nope, i’m not pms’ing, i’m just peeved. Hehehehe.

a weird pic with my words

Religion coming to get you

Yeah, i went to a convent school, (for 2 horrific years) and amazingly, i haven’t killed any nuns since. I get urges, but i’m a civilised human.

Oh hey – it’s okay – i just double-checked my cycle, and i misread it. (Yeah, mine’s in a spreadsheet, how else does a girl keep track?) I AM premenstrual 😀

Phew, i thought i was just beginning to embody crankiness-in-being. Is there a goddess for that? Who does the premenstrual woman pray to? Who do her poor victims people she meets pray to? Oh – i have it – Kali, the Destroyer, hehehe. Let’s cut through the niceties, shall we?

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com