It’s kind of messed up—the idea that you could be world-class at something, truly built for it, and never even get close. Not because you didn’t work hard. Not because you gave up. But because no one ever pointed you in that direction. No one said look here. Or maybe they did, but you were too busy surviving to notice. Too busy doing what you were told was practical, responsible, realistic.

That’s what gets me. How much of life is just... being angled. Shaped by parents, teachers, systems, money, fear. Most of the time, you’re not choosing—you’re reacting. Following the path of least resistance. Or the one with the least judgment. And if you’re lucky, that path intersects with your talent. But for a lot of people? It doesn’t. Not even close.

So maybe you’re carrying this sealed envelope inside you. And maybe it has the name of the thing you’d be incredible at. But you’ll probably never open it. Because no one told you it existed. Or they buried it under bills, expectations, and social pressure. Or worse—they told you to be grateful for the path you did get. That wanting more was selfish. That dreaming differently was naive.

And here’s the kicker: you could live your whole life doing “fine.” Competent. Decent. Even successful—by someone else’s definition. And still miss the thing. That real thing. The one that lights you up. The one that makes you not just live but burn.

But most people don’t burn. They simmer. Quietly. Contained.

Because the world is better at building fences than handing out matches.

People say the mystery is beautiful. And maybe it is. On some days, I believe that.

On others, it feels like a consolation. A way to forgive the system for failing you—or yourself, for never getting the chance.

So yeah. I think about that envelope. And I wonder:

Am I supposed to be okay with never opening it? Just keep walking with it sealed inside me, like a joke I’m not allowed to hear?

I don’t know. Some days, that question is heavier than others.

Perusing that abyss known as Gmail, I find myself deleting a lot of digital flotsam and jetsam that is about as useful to me as a condom dispenser in a convent. Still, I have to admit, some of these garbage emails make me think. For example:

There is an amazing number of products out there for those who suffer from erectile disfunction. The pills, lotions, drinks, and even gummies (keep out of reach of children) that're advertised are guaranteed to hoist even the limpest of meat main sails. Personally, I don't suffer from the condition, but that's nothing to brag about because a light switch that can stay flipped up for 2 minutes is no big deal. "Delete"

Apparently, there are hundreds of single Asian, Russian, and women over the age of 40 who're eager to date me. Let me be clear on two things. First, I'm happily married. Second, any woman who's eager to date me is probably clinically insane and a possessor and practiced user of the Lorena Bobbitt cutlery set. So, no thank you. "Delete"

An urgent correspondence from a politician is being sent to me because the members of the opposing party are out to ruin America. Of course, said politician wants my help in the form of a donation and my vote to aid them in their quest to save America. Personally, I think all politicians be they donkey or elephant are responsible for the massive lube-free cluster fuck that has become our country. So, expecting a politician to fix our nation's issues is like asking a clan of hyenas to save a wounded gazelle. "Delete"

For a limited time, the Danbury Mint is proudly offering hand-painted collector plates that commemorate Elvis' slow transformation from svelte child sexual predator to the fat. white jumpsuit wearing, mutton chopped, Vegas performing hack he died as for just 3 easy payments of $19.99 per plate. Each month, I will receive a new beautifully painted porcelain plate along with a certificate of authenticity that visually chronicles the physical transformation caused by Elvis' steady diet of Quaaludes and fried peanut butter and nanna samiches. These magnificently created plates will surely increase in value and are so realistic Elvis' cellulite and that famous double chin will slowly appear beneath his greasy mutton-chopped gob with each new addition to my collection. But this offer won't last forever and if I act now I will also receive a replica of the check Elvis signed that bribed his bride, Priscilla's parents into not having him arrested for having an illegal sexual relationship with their 14 year old daughter. "Delete"

I am missing out on securing a mortgage in my area of California at the current 5.2% interest rate. With just such a mortgage, I could finance a desirable1-room shack located near running water on enough land to dig a his and her outhouse for the low-low asking price of $500,000. "Delete"

Amazon is hiring delivery drivers. The pay starts at $20/hour and you will receive medical and dental on the first day while receiving training in how to heave packages marked, "Fragile" like an Olympic shot putter more that 15 yards to land somewhere near the (hopefully correct) customer's front door. "Delete."

Of course, this is just a small sample of the useless drivel that lands in my email. However, I can't complain too much, because after all, a lot of what I write that ends up on the internet probably also deserves a...."Delete"

Every time I see something about ancestors being proud of you, about you being their gift to the future I think this:

No, I'm their abomination, the child they never wished to be, the end of the world as they knew it, I am queer and the fact that me, that, originated from them, makes them roll in their graves and I love it. I have learned to feed off their despair and discontent, turning it to love instead of desperation. I use this knowledge to love those like me: the abominations of this world that only ever wanted a home.

I remember this and I keep walking, I keep loving, I hoping hoping out of spite. I keep trying to make this world a better place as revenge. It spurs from anger. My ancestors were colonizers and I have dedicated my life to undoing everything they ever did. I hope they feel worthless and unloved. I hope they watch their own culture of domination disapear, just as they did to so many others. I hope they watch, as I, their descendent, do what they never could, and turn their dreams of a new world into a pile of ash.

that wasn't me

at least it didn't feel like me,

speaking to you

emotional lies

i should have been better

i could've been better

and i think, in the end

it all would have changed

if i could have one more redemption

one more chance

i think i'd beg you not to hate me

Voices passing under the table.

Twenty four legs plus four.

Bones and wood.

The fire is brewing.

Ashes in a heap.

Under the table.

A volcanic conversation,a heated debate.

The debris of strategic confetti smoldering,hot of the paraded press.

The king and queen in royal attire.

Sitting above the madness,dropping crumbs to their world below.

Open minds catching juicy morsels of fabricated ideas that are whispered in forked tongues.

Spooned and fed tasting the crimson infernal truth.

Forever

March 26, 2025

Where do parallel lines intersect?

When do diamonds lose their luster?

For how long will the Sun rise?

What does it take to end true love?

I thought eternity was a friend

I thought everything was quantitative

I thought about forever

However, forever never thought about me

My time, from my POV, is lengthy

Awash with chronological representations

Of weeks, month, years, and decades

Substantive to those who covet substantive things

But forever scoffs at such thoughts

Not even a sig fig in any calculation

Forever dwarfs all life

Forever dwarfs all

So, how vast is the ocean?

So, how many stars in the sky?

Forever will always be there to calculate

I just won’t forever be there to hear the answer

Time is going by too fast. I need to find a way to make (?) more time. Hmm

I guess I should make a list or some shit like that. Prioritize my time.

maybe i should check online for some ideas.

Noooo online is a bad place to try to “save time”. Somewhere in my brain, synapses weakly fire to remind me of this oft disregarded fun fact.

Okay, this article blurb says to set a timer for 25 minutes and do everything you can and then take a break. This one says do 2 hour blocks.

Naw. Fuck that.

I can't focus on anything for 2 whole hours.

This other person says to wake up earlier.

Nope.

And don’t take naps.

tf?

Well that’s kind of personal, isn’t it?

I realize these are big time-eaters (is that a word), but too bad. I like to wake up when I want. And sometimes I just need a nap around 2pm. So those lame ass bullshit ideas are out.

I'm wasting even more time looking for ways to save time. Oh, and writing about looking for ways to NOT waste time. That's a surefire time-suck (definitely a word). How much time can a time-suck suck if time-suck could suck time?

Copious amounts, apparently.

So I am insane and poor at time management. What kinds of career paths might I have left unexplored? I won't research that because did I mention that I am also quite lazy?

Hey, I know you wanted this with all the typos and organic crap, but my autocorrect is on point today, so I apologize, challenge host dude.

I think I still have some of my 15 minutes left on my timer so let's talk about if you could go back in time, who would you have a one night stand with? And why? Just to be a time traveling slut? Maybe. kinda.

But no. I was thinking I’d definitely have a group thing with Chronos, Aion, and Kairos. I think then I might come away with a better handle on this time management thing.

Oh look… I just wasted yet another 15 minutes babbling about wasting time. Toodles mfers xo

Writing a book feels like just channeling my thoughts.

No one reads it, I know that. I see it from the engagement when I post them.

I feel so hollow when I look. Forty-one reads, half my own making sure it's all right,

Written well. Correct grammar. No discrepancies. Written so people will like it.

But no one sees. So they remain words plastered to the walls that are increasingly boxing me in. But they are my words, but they stick. There is no peace in writing it.

But I keep writing, because if I don't, I may fall apart at the very thread-barren seems that hold me together. Nothing I've quilted together, but simply there from birth.

I have worn them so thin, until they have become far beyond frayed.

I cannot slip from frayed seems, but over time they either wear me down or I them.

I am not sure which is losing the fight.

All I know, is I do not feel well,

Unlike other sites, I'm not REQUIRED to review certain posts.

I don't need to go to an adult area to use the f word.

I've earned $7.00 and should have enough soon for a discounted Tesla Cybertruck.

The lady writers here are HOT.

Prose notifications give me an endorphin kick.

3/6/2025