Saturday, July 27, 2013

Fuck Off

(As is the case with nearly all my posts of late, this is not aimed at any of the 4 or 5 non-existent readers who frequent my corner of the world wide web. And yes, I say 4 or 5. Some comment here, some don't. I know of at least three, and think a few others stop by. It could be even more. In the end, it's the internet, just how much does it matter?)

I am not anyone's project.  And I don't need anyone to feel sorry for me.  I am a fighter.  I got this, as the kids say.

I will wade through this atrocious inner pond of Hades, through the stinking bile and piles of fecund matter, my pittance held atop my head, and I will come out the other side smelling of roses and ready to cave Goliath's forehead in with a piece of agate that caught my eye.

I realize that I am spilling an unfair amount of anger into this blog, like a tanker aground on abrasive and unforgiving coral off some beach in the South Pacific.  Life is a process.  Anger is part of that process.  I do not feel guilty, ashamed, nor do I apologize.

I, I will grab this, my life, by the tender vittles and I, I will show it who is in charge.  I will wage this war, ultimately, alone, and rise victorious from a muddy foxhole into a sunrise as yet besmirched by mustard gas and cordite, and I will laugh the guffaw of the mentally insane and trudge off to find the answers I seek.

I do not lie to myself anymore.  I see through the flimsy veil that others present to me that does little to conceal the deep, dark untruths to which they cleverly keep themselves blind.

I choose.

I choose what I do, how I react.  I am not perfect, I make mistakes.  I will learn from my mistakes.

But I will not, will NOT, take the plate of rotted meat and maggot-ridden fruit that is presented me and call it a feast fit for a king.

Bear with me, O thou long-suffering non-existent readers, my droogs and only friends, for I am in a moment of transition that requires I spew certain things into a place of safety and acceptance.

And sometimes, this is the only place where I can do that.

Darth Sardonic

Friday, July 19, 2013


The longer I go without physical contact from anyone but my kids, the less I miss it.  This is probably not really healthy, but it's my life right now.

I will post again soon.

Darth Sardonic

Thursday, July 04, 2013

Anger Is a Gift

Fuck you, Patricia Anderson Faires. Fuck you, and your "This can all be yours someday." while my back was breaking and I was drenched in sweat on a hot July day rather than hanging out with my teenage friends from school (who were all whores or gay or evil.)

Whatever happened to that rockery?

I can tell you what has happened. I have been back. I am sure you've no fucking idea. I guaranfuckingtee you've not been back since, and could really give a shit.

I'm at a point in my life where I think I can maybe remotely grasp what cause my father to marry you.

It's not an excuse.

Today my kids and I were talking about how when I was their age, I leaped from tree to tree in woods that was my own, without a care, without video games or enhancements. I was all incarnations of Harrison Ford.  The lamest thing I did when I was their age was to play with action figures:  Star Wars, GI Joe. At worst, this was still creative play from my own mind instead of a predefined series of events from a team of game engineers.

Cam said that sounded like an amazing childhood.

He is right. But you fucking stripped that from me.

I'm not your dad, who did things to you that should've been prevented. I'm not your mom, who turned a blind eye. Why do you make every man pay for that? Oh, yes, because in some way every male must pay for the things that one male you trusted did to you.

You know what would happen if I in turn did that to my own kids?  They would never trust a fucking thing that ever crossed my lips, that's what.

And the rockery is gone, you fucking cunt.

The people you sold the property to ripped it out like some organ that I don't really need but of which I feel the absence, and which pains me on rainy days.

You evil fucking bitch.

And yes, my two remaining readers, I've been drinking. At not even ten am on the 4th of July. I hope yours is going better than mine. And when I am drinking, connections are suddenly made, and I throw off the bullshit lies that I have even told myself, and I start facing my life for exactly what it is:  damaged, misaligned, misguided, and misinformed. Forgive me, but I no longer hold back on the things that piss me off.  This destroys me, from the inside.

Happy 4th, those that still visit this, my special place on the world wide web where I can allow myself to be completely myself. I'll sober up when the cleaning is done, and make it a special day for my boys, because really and truly, that is the only thing that keeps me going.

Darth Sardonic