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On Crying

We tend to turn our heads is and when we feel ourselves about to cry; often, we may even obscure the situation to hide the fact that we are crying…to hide the fact that we are experiencing emotions that have an effect on us. Why? Now, “why?” as in “gee, why does this shit happen?” I know why we do it-so knowing that, why do we still do it?


Why haven’t we started to rebel more, to look our friends, partners, spouses, lovers, co-workers, or random people we’re near, straight in the eyes while we’re crying, as if to say, “hey-I am having some deep feels right now, pardon the fuck out of those & the fact that I choose to experience those” or, hell, what if we actually said something to that degree? Crying, experiencing emotions, reacting to life as it happens around us, shouldn’t be restrictive or restricted; and if people near us are made uncomfortable by how we experience the world, and our emotional reactions to it, if any of them can’t abide our crying…that’s their issue. 


I’m an adult, I will cry if I want to. I am an adult, I all cry if I need to. I’m not going to let anyone else’s exportations police how I experience this world, or how I experience my own emotions. Fuck that. Flow tears, flow.


Luckily, I have found friends who fully encourage this & push me to accept who I feel need to be, regardless of how watery my eyes may get. Without them, I fear I would be very dry, and very, very sad.


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Things & stuff

A. people seem to be super pissed that I am developing self-esteem & self-confidence. Sorry…not sorry. More on this to follow…

B. My main goal w/this blog is to advocate & disseminate ideas…tonights a test for that. Check Democratizing Knowledge…Let me know what you’d like to see up there. My research is wide but has a very distinct focus…

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@TimzyHasAnEgo & His Pedo-Like Tweets

It’s odd that I started my WordPress blog years ago in an attempt to find a release from all that haunted me as a result of the abuse I endured as a child…I gave it up because it felt useless to write what I couldn’t even bring myself to read. Yet know I engage a community of people who actually care-and in coming back to this blog, I am reading something very painful in what I was writing back in 2012. That pain remains-but it’s morphed into more of a motivating force than a dull reminder. And I am actually okay with this direction.
More people need to become engaged with this issue. The taboo shouldn’t be talking about this disgusting issue-the taboo should be the actual disgusting issue. Take this actual person, posting these actual Twitter posts advocating child rape. This is real life, any old day ending in -Y, and too few people are fight back against it…in fact-many are joining in and accepting in, agreeing that it’s “okay when described a different way” and they are prone to just laugh it all off. None of these reactions is acceptable. Rape in any situation is a crime; raping a child is still a criminal, regardless of how the rapists climaxes, how the rape unfolds, or how the rape is semantically described. Until “some men & some women” stop finding this acceptable and funny, all people will not move forward.

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Legitimate Rape

My own Grandmother hates to talk about this issue. I only see her once a year, if I am lucky, and regardless of her feelings, her anxiety, her guilt and apprehension, the topic always get’s brought up, in some way or another. I’ve never told her everything; I will never tell her more than she knows. I don’t like thinking about it, let alone talking to my Grandmother about it.

But sometimes…sometimes…the pain wells up and I want to scream: “YOU, of all people, called me a liar.” But I never will. I think when she looks in my eyes, she hears that anyway, and that guilt eats at her heart.

I love my Granny more than silly little words can describe. She did call me a liar, she did grab a broom and she swept, diligently and with purpose, all of our lives and their twisted mishaps  under a heavy and frequently stained rug. But she also built a life for me atop that rug. She sent me school clothes, new sneakers so I could play sports, she sent me cards with personalized letters asking how I was, and what she could do to help. In her, I found my love for words. Weekly correspondences dating back to my preteen years instilled in me a love for writing, for communicating in a special, personalized ways…but it never did improve my spelling. She looked out for us as best she could, as best she knew how, as best as time and situations would allow her.

She regrets so much. I know she does. She let us down, she knows it. But I can’t blame her, nor can I hold it against her. In her mind, way back when, saying “things like this happen” was an easy response-because we live in a sick fucking world where things like this happen. I guess she’d seen it before; growing up in West Virginia must have brought her a fucked-up situation or two (I am openly mean about the South-not sure why…but I am). It was a different time, and she was still very young for a Grandmother…she just didn’t know how to handle it.

We’re very close now. As close as two people can be who are separated by thousands of miles and a few very dramatically different generations. But I know she’s a democrat that supports President Obama and his administrations social agenda-we share that her and I. We can talk about politics normally. We can discuss the batshit crazy shit the Grand Ol’ Party does…but not this election season. Nope. Not happening. Our letters are bone dry on political discussions. We don’t want to go down that painful road…so we just don’t mention it; instead, we write a lot about the weather, my teaching load, the groundhogs leaving her grass alone, ants in our houses, yard sales, friends, family, and other fun things. But we won’t talk about these issues…but that’s okay-other Granny’s have stepped forward and voiced a very loud and resounding FUCK YOU to all mention of “legitimate rape” and the wonders of the female body. Thanks Grannys. If my Granny knew how to use a computer, I’m sure she’d enjoy this.

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August 24, 2012 · 6:11 pm