My parents

It's human nature. I would argue that my dad was equally slothenly in this area, plus, if males (and females) didn't put such ridiculous pressures on women to look a certain way, they wouldn't have to go to the hassles of this level of bullshit.

E.g., "Boy, if I could look as slobby and unkempt as you, no make-up, no product, having my underwear hanging out and shit, and not be seen as a 'slut' or trying to be 'loose', and at worst was seen as 'lazy' or 'trying to be gangster' and needing a better rolemodel, then maybe this 'shit' wouldn't be here..."

On the other hand, men predominantly design homes and I have yet to see one actually designed for all the hardware required to look "stylish".

E.g., where are the easy to access makeup drawers like at the mall, or all of those hidden roll out wall enclosures with everything you need? Where are all of the hooks for dryers, a built in seated dryer like at the salons so my hair won't over dry? Were are the hooks for my wet/dry, ceramic, ion producing straightening irons with the grips that cost me $350 only to last six months because the bathroom has shitty wiring or because men think that their beer cooler is FAR more important to properly wire? Where are the hooks for my curling iron, my ionic blow dryer, my I ran out of brain space to name hair styling products, my foundation, eyeliner, moisturizer, concealer, lipsticks, lip gloss, brushes, color guides, eye shadow, blush/rouge, my six brushes, combs, perfumes, skin creams so I don't turn into a 'wrinkled-old-hag' prematurely so you'll run off with a younger model, or brushes, wipe pads, sponges, mascaras, and all of the other non-animal tested crap you men sell to us because we have to fit your standards of 'beauty' in order to be loved?"

"Would you like to say something?"

"No mam..."

"Good. Now, wipe up your piss and get out. I've got to go dress up and outdo those stuck up nouveau riche bitches from the PTA. FUCKING C#$%S! Make sure to clean up your chips or I'll make you lick them off the floor."

"Yes mam."

:P

I had parents where were equally strong willed, mom an equal match for my dad, and something of a tomboy. My grandparents sent her to modeling school after college because they didn't think that she was cooth enough or elegant, etc., apparently too many years acting like a boy. :P

My dad on the other hand worked construction (my parents business; commercial concrete) and was horribly busy dealing with fuck-heads, dumbfucks, screwups, clusterfucks, and disasters of such magnitude their level of epic "OMFG!???!!!" notorious ephagies can still cause my mother to tell "stories" of a side splitting nature of "stupid." Not to mention partners trying to fuck him/screw him/us out of the business, and all manner of other CLASSIC male pattern tactics of fucking/brown nosing/killing/backstabbing epicness to get ahead of someone else for no apparently logical reason besides ego, greed, lust, envy, enmity, pride, or just being a fucking lifetroll.

Anyhow, dad wasn't around much and had such terrible expectations placed on him to be the star-everything (grandfather was an Olympic wrestler, head university football coach at UI for the Vandals, baseball coach, basketball coach, athletics director, etc., father was on the PGA, each of them was all-american, etc.,), so my dad was like "If YOU want to do it, son, then I will support you the whole way, but I won't pressure you. Also, the football program at your high school is a joke, and I don't want you to spend the rest of you life injured, so no football until you're a senior, etc. I knew plenty of world-class, NFL players who didn't start until their senior year.", and instead, cuz dad was busy, my mom taught me hit a baseball and helped teach the kids on my 2nd grade softball team (she worked previously as a recreational therapist, and had degrees in parks and recreation administration and planning, and one in recreational therapy from UW, the second as the first graduate with that degree, making her own program with the help of one of the therapists at University Hospital), swimming, etc. Although, mom did scare the crap out of me making me stick my face in the water (dad was strangely a lot more chill around water having been through UDT scuba training in the USMC. Mom and he constantly fought over " who knows best" and even though mom was a lifeguard, dad taught combat swimming and was the first enlisted man/person to graduate first in their class Navy Diving School, yet he'd let my mom teach me because "your mother thinks she knows everything and I can't handle the war." and they were constantly like that, battling it out, who knows best. It was hilarious. It turned into bar room brawls sometimes between them, you'd never be sure who hit first, because they were both "crazy". :P

It was awesome in many ways because it would make me look at most bullshit divorces and be like, for my mom, if dad had a PTSD episode, she'd punch him. He'd give her a " love-tap" and she'd "slug him." They could act like children. Hated and loved one a other. Drove each other crazy, and would do anything for the other person. Were the loyalest of friends not to mention best friends, and simultaneously were assholes and the most beautiful people you could imagine.

I learned about make-up, hair, etc., from mom, along with the whole female world, which probably explains my tendency to have female friends and a difficult time, or nonexistent time actually dating, because I look at women and am like, Um... Dating, but I want to hang out, talk, have fun and be friends? How do I move from let's go nerd out or talk life to, "dating"?!! O.o

It's hilarious and at times a bit sad watching me. I was and am so anti-normative male, being like a combination of the toughest MOFO on the face of the deep, "I walk through the valley of death and fear no evil, for I am the toughest mother fucker in the valley." with a "priss." I look at 99.9% of men, roll my eyes and think they are both "womanizing inferiors" and pussy, bullshit little fucks. I also tend to be attracted to smart, ass-kicking ladies", (who admittedly have a classic beauty about them) which is probably why I have a thing for Hayley Atwell's character from Marvel's Captain America/Agent Carter and a truly serious and badass Wonder Woman, as they remind me a lot of my mom, whom I respect beyond measure, just like my dad.

Mom also shared all the ins and outs of female life and personal life, which is why talking about a period with me is like talking to your girlfriend, because it produces ZERO shock value. Hell, I even went so far as to ask the adult nerdfighter group for recommendations to get her a replacement "happy device" so she can be somewhat less of a screaming, raving, you-know-what. :P This, by the way, is her lingo, because she'd joke, "So, why is dad being so nice all of a sudden?" "Oh... [Mischievous look, chuckle] He got some nookie." "So, was he successful for once?" "Sort of... But, he tries. It was easier before his heart attack and diabetes, and I tended to enjoy sex more when I drank. But, it improves his mood and he does try." Rape has a wonderful way of fucking up your sex-life, huh? 3/5 women who suffer thanks to 5-10% of the male population... :/

Anywhooo...

I know FAR too many things on both extremes and see men as either being a bunch of womanizing, male chauvinist pigs, with egos the size of mountains, and dicks the size of a pencil when you throw it out, or other displeasurable things. I tend to respect women and men who've been through some serious shit because those who have and have come out the other side well, are, like my parents, fucking epicly awesome. :)

I hear that I too have been something of that, at least, according to the women in my DBT group. :P

Hahaha

So, now you know a bit more about me, and perhaps a bit of why I am how I am, and why I will do anything for my parents, mom particularly, even though I want to [STAB! STAB! STAB!] when she goes all batshit crazy and is like "Boundaries?! THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS BOUNDARIES!!!" :P Yeah, both my parents could be like that, or dad would get too physical and mom would be like, "NO! BACK! [smack] Bad Marine, special forces, ..., no punching. Only I get to do that! ;) " Love you, Mom!

Whereas my dad would tell her to stop hounding me like her mom (automatic, trained behavior is SO AWESOME! :P ) and say stuff like, "Barbara! Leave him alone. BARBARA! THAT'S ENOUGH! He won't get anything done with you pounding on him. Chris, you've got five more minutes before I kick your ass." Or "...Give him an hour." But... He won't start after that!" Which is mom code for "No! Must club child into submission!" <=How I got awarded "Honorary Asian" for having an "Asian Mom". :P

And then dad would finally lose it with the [battle] between ADHD parent doing same behavior patters as her mother (which she knew didn't work, but you're asking her to think about impulsivity??? Hahahahaha!!! and ADHD son, with an ADHD Marine father! Shenanigans!). Dad would give her his drill instructor voice which was code for, "Bitch, shut up before I kick your ass, and while I know you think you can whip me, I let you win." (Palms face) and before I get the "Your father was abusive! You're poor mother!" Don't forget that she once tore off his ear and broke his ear drum in the process. Fucking crazy these two! Hahaha! And dad was mostly blather and hot air, like mom, and would use fear as the only effective ADHD treatment. It was the only thing assured to get my mom (or my dad) of eir ass. Nothing works like a crisis! Hahaha!

I know, people reading this probably think that I come from a "madhouse" filled with "crazies" and that my father was the "worst person on earth." My aunt Jane likes to go into this "poor me" worldview (I love you Jane, but in my personal and not quite professional opinion, you're a clinical narcissist, and I COMPLETELY understand why! Not your fault! But being a bitch as your age who refuses to cope or deal with it in any way, well, that IS your problem..." :P ) and see my dad as terrible or both my parents as so terribly toxic, but the facts are, they may have caused me enormous levels of stress, much outside of their control, they never stopped loving me, even during extreme PTSD bullshit where we acted like complete fucking psychos (perfect neighborhood too! Hahaha! BPD response: FUCK YOU, YOU SELFISH, NEAUVOU RICHE, SELFISH FUCKS! TRY ACTING CIVIL AND LOVING, AND MAYBE WE'LL TRY NOT TO MAKE YOU PISS YOURSELVES!"

The best parts were my parents having wars and DHS officers, as both my parents joked, "good little feminist bitches who want to lock [me] (dad)/[your father] (mom) up because they think [I]/[he] am/is abusive." Them they'd turn and start laughing. My mom was the worst. They had their problems. I'll admit it! But, they were wonderful even in their batshit craziness, which was mostly an external thing. It's easy to look in and see a disastrous home and another thing to be willing to fight it out with another person, stick with them through thick and thin, even if they have some of the WORST habits or tendencies, and yet love them enough, and want the best for them, that you WILL DO WHATEVER IT TAKES to help them (even if you have to kick their ass in the process). That level of loyalty and respect, to me at least, is breathtaking. Both my parents are very special people, and while they have caused me some harm, it's the not that difficult and totally understandable under the given circumstances, repairable kind. Not the level of twisted selfishness I see in the world around me that is the real source of my mental instability. The depravity outside my door that refused to put in the same level of dedication to another that my parents and I have towards other people. My parents didn't give up on people, they just ended up having BPD-like reactions after a while when people wouldn't change.

It took me many years and quite a bit of pain, but I think I knew my father in many respects better, save maybe for mom, than anyone on this Earth now living. He had enough crap that the fact he wasn't more crazy is like a jaw dropping event in it of itself.

I love my parents and would and will do anything for them. I just let a world convince me of something I know in my heart to be utter bullshit, yet because I no longer see the good, it's hard to muster the strength from within. My parents taught me so very much and in many ways I've been selfish and failed them out of my own neuroses. Yet, by this point, my audience is lost, judgemental, or simply incapable of fathoming the reality before them without oversimplifying and thinking that you childhood was a was or that my parents were monsters. I spent years in fear of being taken away and therefore couldn't talk about my inner pain for fear of what society might do to me. My father was no different. He feared judgement as a cultural aftereffect of Vietnam. He was abused when he came home. He was put into a mental institution by his mother when he told his father that she'd molested him, which was a result of her neuroses, her husbands behavior, and probably seizures. She pulled back from my dad, my aunt claims my dad has some mental disorder like bipolar, but then I've seen how she acts and it was her youngest son who molested and raped me, so, take it as with a grain, Merry. She claiming it was because he acted out, chased her around the house with a butcher's cleaver as a child, even though she was a truly sadistic, spoiled little c.u.n.t. (one of only a few women I, in my utter respect for the great women of this world would ever use to describe because of her utterly contemptible behavior, which again has logical causes). And even gran's behavior had other sides and sources. It's been a funhouse of puzzles. The full extent of the human condition playing out in one family. Utterly breathtaking in its absurdity, horror, and beauty.

People, humans want a simple world that's easy to compartmentalized, deal with, and move on, but the world, the real world of out there and in here is not simple except in it's utter respect to its complexity. People refuse to sacrifice, give up, or live by the suffering living in the real world demands. I get it, some people like my relatives are of a kind and level of toxic that requires a level 4-5 hazmat suit to even marginally safely cope with or deal with, but not everyone is like that. Not to mention even at their worst, their most truly and horrific, people should be loved and sacrificed for. It's humanity's greatest biological adaptation. Cooperation, sacrifice, unconditional love. A willingness to give up even life for another, and until you've seen that or been close enough to it to understand its significance, you'll never truly know the depths capable of love. And saying that outside of pain is easy. I know, but inside is another matter.

I struggle finding a balance and seeing this picture reminds me of my family and that willingness to sacrifice love.

A Curious Tale about Marvel: Stories and their tellers.

An extremely interesting read on Stan Lee. One thing that I found most interesting is the ponderous question:  How are comic book artists and creators treated in the 21st century (as opposed to the past)? Given the challenge that this particular journalist poses to us, I'm rather saddened that he didn't get more time with Lee.

I think we (in the 21st century) could all use a bit more reality and considerably less sensationalism. What makes stories power, what makes them hit home, is precisely what makes this piece meaningful: reality. You ask a question and expect an answer.

In my own case, I've got no allegiances when it comes to comics. I'm just a random passerby who happens to enjoy the stories. But, I'm like that with everything. I enjoy what I can try when it is good (or at least, when it is human and real), and whether that is a gritty portmanteau or a poorly crafted film adaptation of the Fantastic 4 made all the more real because it was trying to keep the copyrights to the film in the hands of said director, or, perhaps, the story of two people, Jack Kirby and "Mr. Marvel", Stanley Martin Leiber, a.k.a. "Stan Lee", and the life-long struggle of comic creators. Stan was, ultimately, he admits, "a salaryman", paid by his job titles and not his creations.

In the end, whether we're writing stories about Lawrence Lessig attacking the social construct of a corrupted Polis election system or the convoluted content rights problem, society will still want, as Neil Postman might describe, "stories of meaning". We all need tales that are human, tales that tell us who and what we are, and what ultimately makes us different or similar to other things—flexing those immortal boundaries and providing sense to who we truly are—an identity, a ferocity, a power unlike others—the power of truth.

And when it comes down it it, the truth is—"Mr. Marvel" is just another character in a rather interesting story we humans craft through our lives and livelihoods. A story formed by our organizations, our structural lines, our creeds, our ideas, and our ideologies. Perhaps, as Jack Kirby's character, Loki, is so fond of proclaiming, we are "so petulant, inferior [of] creatures", for we spend our days fighting amongst each other and never truly appreciate what we have been given through the combined efforts of one another (or "collective cooperation" as S.I. Hayakawa might profess)—respecting each piece, and each player in that great production: life. Perhaps, we, oh, so petty mortal kind, shall meet out fate on the annals of universal history, to be deemed deficient.

Of these things, I cannot tell, but what I can, of those limited experiences I know, within the bounds of bare reason, is humanity needs stories that teach us who we are and storytellers who are not afraid, not matter the consequences or the costs, to tell us—even if we ourselves are too scared to admit it (or to acknowledge the results)—what being human is all about.

              

Quiet, please.

"I... Help..." No answer.

Pain. Loss. Lots of pain and lack of clarity. No one questions the strangeness. No questions answered.

"Help." None arrives.

"Where...Where are they? When will they come...? Help... Please...Dear God...Help me. Jesus...Don't abandon me in my hours of need..."

Death. Alone. Silence in Stillness. Alone and Forgot. Forgotten by the world. Abandoned by all who claimed to care. "When will they come?" Never. That's what they always do — abandon in the hours of need.

She broke in again. She invades matter the barrier. I barred the door, this time with a fan, some loose boxes filled with books, and my piano, and yet she still gets in. Her voice penetrates my sanctuary. Her angry, broken, fearful cries penetrate my mental walls. Her insecure questions. Her tremulous pleas. They never cease. Nor does she. They pierce my skull, my ears, my spirit central. They pierce through me. No end in sight. Only death will quell her might. My Death. Silence. Sleep.

Sleep. Sleep is my every desire, to sleep soundly, anywhere I might. Sleep eternal. Sleep everlasting, evermore, yet never more than an instant. "Can I? May I, please, sleep so soundly on my knees filled with such rancor broken tenderness that I dare not wake until the world is changed, my world, my broken space? While she pounds? While I tear? Perhaps, when father gets home...?" No. Not then. Then will only be more pain, more sadness, fear, and loss as something else is taken away.

Another day, another moment, another plot against him and all his dreams. Men tried to kill my daddy. Men tried to harm. Alone he is, quiet, afraid. So is mother. They are both the same. Alone and forgot. Forgotten like me, except for a swot. By word or deed, we will all be not.

Banished: Churches of the Damned

Banished: The Outcast in Modernity by the Church

By Christopher M. Vanderwall-Brown

Does Jesus teach humanity that it is permissible to withhold charity because people live in sin? Are people (or the Church for that matter) permitted or charged to withhold charity onto those of a broken nature or character or to place limits on the charity and kindness we give onto others? What does the Parable of the Prodigal Son, especially with regards to the elder brother, teach us about God's Divine Love for all humanity or as a blueprint for the church's love onto all of humanity?

For example, is it permissible to withhold food because a person might waste it or because a person refuses to sit and listen to many hours of lectures about their brokenness or their failures to uphold the criminality of their soul or lives? If someone makes a mistake or continues to make mistakes, is it charged or permissible to withhold charity upon them if they are suffering and poor?

What does our Father who art in Heaven command for us? What does Jesus teach us?

Does God put terms on our salvation or Eir charity? Must we convert? Must we do certain things in order to be forgiven or to receive God's blessings, or does God provide us these things because we ask out of love and out of divine charity? Is it merely our returning to God that is enough?

The parable of the two sons, the prodigal son demands his inheritance before his father and then departs for lands unknown. He takes his wealth, blessings, and prosperity and wastes it.

Living in the gutter, utterly broken and despotic, the son realizes that he is doomed and returned to the father's house to ask to work as a servant, to work as a slave or as a hired hand (not as a son, not with a birthright, merely a day laborer). Before the son even reaches his father's house, the father sees his son and races towards him, overjoyed. He embraces his son without explanation and proceeds to order a feast prepared and for the son to be clothed and a signet ring put upon his finger. The joy of the father at the return of his prodigal child, the child lost to him. He is so happy and filling over with joy.

The prodigal son is loved, clothed, and a feast held in honor of his return. The other son, the son who did not leave, who did not demand his inheritance, did not waste it and become low upon the Earth, looks on in disgust, in anger, in folly and pride, for he sees his brother's return in enmity to the father's love. For, having returned in rags and marred honor, the prodigal son has trampled and wasted all the father has given to him, and the other son, the son who has not failed, who has done all the father asks, instead of looking on with joy at the return of his brother, looking on with joy of the father, instead looks on in disgust, in iniquity and strife, for his pride has been heaped up against his brother for he does not believe his brother should be greeted with open arms. He is better than his fallen brother, or so he thinks, and it is his pride that is his fall. When we see ourselves as better than our fallen siblings, when we see them as lower than us, and being unequal, we have fallen pray to the greatest of iniquities..

The story is a metaphor demonstrating God's love and mirroring humanity with all those who have not left the fold and are angry and resentful because they “did as their father requested and were good, obedient children” and yet their father treats the son who has abandoned everything in equal measure with themselves. When they do this, they have become as Lucifer; they have become angry and prideful at their father and sibling for the perceived injustice at not being held in higher regard to their prodigal brother who so wronged their father, by his father, and as a result, grows to hate the father because of this perceived transgression against the loyal and steadfast son.

Has the church become the other son? Has Lucifer won us over to eir cause? Have we abandoned the true will and love of the father for that of the perceived injustice of the son who did not leave or wrong his father, but who nevertheless felt angry, prideful, resentful at his brother who trampled everything he had upheld?

When we judge others, turn away those in need because they do not meet our expectations or because they have in some way not “measured up” to our perceptions of “Justice”, have we become as the Dark One and fallen down the road of pride? Has the church become an institution of the devil and not of our Lord and savior?

Is it possible that all those critics who daily bombard us with criticisms of our claimed iniquity may be on to something and that in fact much of the church is in fact divorced from the Love and Generosity of our Lord, Savior, and Creator?

Last Call Into Night

Situational crossroads like tonight make me hate life, God, the world, our institutions, and people in general.

I got denied for social security and while mom missed it, because we were at my grandfather's funeral, the notice of the foreclosure process from the bank got sent because in my disability and my mom's broken insanity (and my being totally alone in this life shattering mess) I wasn't able to get all the paperwork filed.

There's a chance that things will still work, but if they don't, if God bails on me, on us, I'm done for good.

This world has taken everything that is precious from me and everyone who could have acted justly to stop that from occurring stood in silence.

The pain and wrongness of it all. The unmitigated moral iniquity of it all.

I am mashing my teeth, wrenching my hands, and making great lamentations.

The world is a cold and desolate placed filled with armies of unfeeling bystanders who like the many white churches in America, keep driving by, those in suffering.

This person, however, cannot watch the swaths of suffering any longer, cannot sit by doing what little he is able while suffering perpetuates, while everything and everyone he loves is stolen from him. I cannot do this any longer. I will not stand by to watch the destruction of the world or the church by the armies of the godless who claim to stand for justice any longer.

When this trial is at a close, when I've done all that I can and I find myself homeless: the childhood home in which I have resided and grown since 3rd grade taken from me, with the soulless bastards of humanity cheering on my destruction while claiming to be arbiters of justice and equity; when these things have all been expended and nothing more remains and I have lost everything and am living a homeless life, with my "selfish cunt of an aunt" sneering on, taunting my mother and I in our suffering as she reiterates how it's all our fault and how we brought this on ourselves, when those godless creatures in the church command that this is yet another reason to "disintegrate" from my mom, because she belongs in an institution where "proper care can be administered", when the heartless have finally taken refuge in the hearts of all those livings, when this shall come to pass, I shall make my only expression left to offer in silence. I shall make one last and final statement to the world and it shall be the shortest, briefest, and most concise statement I can offer.

You can read between the lines and decide for yourselves what that will mean.

I'm fed up with fighting and with losing. I've done this for too long and it just is not worth it anymore.

I am besieged by legions seeking for my destruction and I am battered on all sides by the forces of unricheousness and unholy monsters who seek for my destruction, my condemnation.

I am alone in the wilderness. I am broken. I suffer. God has yet to show Emself and until I see hope, I shall morn for lack of it. May the Lord have mercy upon your souls.

Sleep

By Christopher Vanderwall-Brown

Pain. So much pain. Overwhelming. Covering. Filling. Churning. Where is my salvation? Where is this peace so you speak? Where is my safety in this maelstrom?

Cold. Alone. Bitter. Broken. Spears of ice piercing my heart, my body. Am I to lay here... lay here to die? Die alone? Is this the end?

Where are you my God in my suffering? Where is my peace? Where is this cold's end? Please! Please, my God... End my suffering!

Silence. Suffering. Emptiness. Alone. Alone until the end. This is the end of me...

Love. Overwhelming. Embracing. I stand. I walk. Light Enveloping. Who is this figure? This figure of hope, of joy, of... everything?

Goodbye world. I love you so. But, something greater awaits. Peace. Finally. Sleep Eternal....

Petition Against Advertising on Public Broadcasts

Television Advertising as many studies show leave our children open to materialistic consumption. They become fixated with their need to buy—as like a bleeding person from a gunshot wound needs a transfusion.

PBS is one of the only commercial-free networks in America left to allow parents to expose their children to entertainment that is not inherently socially destructive, laden with commercial advertising.

As a Christian, I cannot condone the actions you, Willard Mitt Romney, present before the Polis—citizens will stand united in this affront to this fundamental economic necessity. Like national defense, a public forum or theater, just as the Ancient Greeks of Athens performed, is a key element in a stable and free democratic republic.

Calling for its reduction is equivocal to calling for the elimination of our systems of public education or for the elimination of our militias. Our founders, my 7th-great-grandfater, Justice James Wilson, would have called you out for these indiscretions.

I implore you sir, cease at once this indiscretion and learn a little about the magnitude of ramification your actions will wreck on us all.

I might suggest you inform yourself on the economic principles of Coase theory and the problem of "free-riders" in economics—it might give you the perspective you need pertaining to "free-riders" and the necessary place the government has in this market. If you are so keen on a public military, and not merely a collective of private military companies who rule our state with an iron will, then I suggest you also notice the dangers of public media that does not embody the fundamental principles of nation states.