Maybe it's because I let responsibility trap me here again, but I feel like I'm going through my quarter-life crisis. I keep realize that I'm aging, and I keep getting paradoxically more angered and more apathetic at the world around me, and the stupid shit that it encompasses. There comes a time, I think, where the brain gives you cynicism and apathy to avoid a complete mental breakdown, and I think that more and more people are malfunctioning on that front. I can feel the forces within me fighting for control as the jet black in my hair fades to a shining silver. I realize that this is a fucked up place, yet I'm losing my youthful exuberance to do anything about it. I see people with black lung taking oxygen from a tank bearing a sticker that reads
coal keeps the lights on. I see parents preaching morality as they teach their children that's it's perfectly ok to discriminate against people who like to suck cock. I see people preach about a drug war, then step off the podium to snort their coke. And I have seen this stupid shit for 26 fucking years.
You know, when I was 16, I kept telling myself that when I escaped, in 2 short years, I would set forth on a journey to uncover the world's secrets. To learn WTF was going on, because it was impossible for me to understand how such hypocritical behavior was even possible. I've always been an open app; I do what I do, and if you don't like it, then you can fuck right off. There is nothing forcing you to be around me. It continues to shock me the way that other people hide who they are because... I haven't quite figured that part out yet. I suppose that some part of it is the money. The senators who preach anti-gay legislation and then go fuck their South American rent boys are afraid of prosecution- but can they really be so stupid that they don't realize that they
created and fed the thing that they fear so? And it's not just that, it's any vice. Who the Fuck is everyone hiding from? What the fuck is everyone afraid of?
Am I alone? Am I alone in the desire that stupidity become unacceptable? That fear become logical? I have illogical fears- honestly, and I am not shitting you, my biggest fear is that caterpillars are going to crawl in my ears- and other orifices, but mostly my ears- to the point that I cannot cut my hair above the ears, because for some reason, that feeling of not having my ears exposed, on some primal level comforts me. But the kicker here is- I KNOW THAT THAT IS RETARDED. I don't go around trying to convince other people to wear headphones to avoid parasites- and I don't even know of a single breed of caterpillar that even does that (if you do, please don't tell me, because I prefer to think that this fear is completely unfounded). I also fear that butterflies and moths will lay their eggs in an orifice, and then the caterpillars will be in there- just eating away at my insides with their voracious appetite... And it's not a small fear, either, it's like... I can't look at pictures of them on-line or in print. I don't even like caterpies from Pokemon, because that green, segmented kind is the absolute worse for me. And fun fact- they make dildos shaped that that. That right there is nightmare fuel. Do you remember that scene, I can't remember which movie it was in, where Fred Kreuger turns into the caterpillar from Wonderland and goes down that guy's throat. That made me physically sick. And I'm never affected by movies- EVER. If you come near me with a caterpillar, I will fucking shoot you- I'm not shitting you, I will cut a bitch. Ask my cousin Wayne whom I bit the shit out of because he brought one of those things near me. His ass never did it again.
Kinda lost my train of thought on the whole bug thing there... Oh yeah, people are fucking proud of their stupidity, proud of their ignorance, and that is unacceptable. Don't be afraid that people will judge you for your vices- let them. Fuck them. Who the fuck are they? People deserve an honest look at others. And if you look at me, you get honesty. I'm not perfect, but if I don't know anything about something, I don't open my fucking mouth. I don't really hate anything, and I don't really dislike anything without a good, logical reason. And if I'm presented new evidence, I incorporate it into my existing schemas, changing them if necessary. I don't hang on to outdated bullshit and call it fact. I have what is known to my generation, as an exceptionally low bullshit threshold. I cannot put up with a vast amount of bullshit. Dealing with to much bullshit, most of which is voluntary stupidity, puts me into a psychotic rage coma, wherein my brain stops trying to put up with it, and, if bombarded, will shut down completely.
That was far more acceptable as a teenager. But the fact is, I set out into the world, and I found that most towns, do not have the vast amount of bullshit, that my hometown does. This place is full of underemployed, under-educated, ignorant people, who have no intellectual curiosity or desire to better themselves. There are no charity events, there is no ASPCA for me to sponsor animals through, there is no green movement- you have to drive for 2 hours to get to the nearest grocery co-op, there is no public transportation- the pollution index is the highest of any town in the state of Ky; the drug abuse is rampant- leading not only Kentucky, but the entire US in prescription drug abuse (look it up if you want to find out where I am). So here I sit, surrounded by these people who neither want nor deserve help, eating factory-farmed crap and hating myself for it- forgetting what real food tastes like, forgetting what real conversations are. Therefore, the mini-comas I spoke of, that happened regularly throughout my high school career, have returned.
The doctors warn that with each "episode" I actually lose synaptic connections, and that if they continue, I could lose brain function. They've given me three different medications to help slow the deterioration, yet all four consultants say the same thing.
"Get out" says the MD.
"Get out" says the psychiatrist.
"Get out" says the neurologist.
"Get out" says the gynecologist.
I consulted a gynecologist because I felt that the problem may have been hormonal in nature, as intense moods often are. I have endometreosis, so this was not an unreasonable assumption. But the simple fact of the matter is, it's called "Situational Depression"- and people with such low bullshit meters cannot survive and function in this type of environment. As soon as I get out of the enviroment, I will no longer have these episodes, I will no longer risk losing brain function, I will return to my pre-depression, normally functioning self. I'm beginning to think that my therapist is right. I really can't just sit around and wait on my grandfather to die. I love him, and I know that Black Lung is a terrible, debilitating disease (he can't even weed his garden) but if I die, or become a vegetable, it will put such a strain on his heart that it would probably be worse then if I left. I just don't know what to do.
I feel 10 years younger then I am. I feel trapped, and betrayed. And I'm so very, very lonely. I was pursing a graduate degree- and I moved from discussing psychopharmocology, with a special interest in developmental effects of teterogens, to... people who say that I use words to be "impressive" when I just speak plainly. People who, honestly, don't follow me, or anything else, and are only impressed by my hot ass, which, honestly, is nothing to be impressed about. There are millions of chicks with hot asses, and a few more months of eating factory farmed food and drinking water coated in a thick layer of coal slurry, and my beauty will pass. The contaminates will break out my skin and discolor my hair (the water is so bad your skin and hair literally turn orange). The mini-comas will cripple my brain. And I will become the crippled shell I was as a teenager, full of hatred and angst; but it doesn't look nearly as good on someone pushing 30 as it did on someone pushing 20. My friends sympathize, but what can they do? They live in cities, far away from the bustle, and the economy has everyone stretched so tight that is difficult for them to come to me, and impossible for me to visit them. The one time they tried to visit they were repeatedly shot at and had their property defaced. But one thing is for sure, something must change. I may still listen to Manson, but I am not longer the disposable teen I once was. I no longer look to the future with a sort of wonder-filled gaze thinking that I will understand the world by magic. I've realized that in this world, you either make your own way, or you stagnate.
I'm an artist. I'm almost a scientist (2 classes short). This intellectual wasteland is killing me. The folk here make no attempt to make up for their ignorance, as I said before, they seem to take pride in it. They display confederate flags, not in a political statement for State's Rights and a dissaproval of strong federal government, but in the racist way most northerners think of the confederacy. It is not 1962- It's 2012. This is ridiculous. They do not make up for their lack of intellect in kindness, as I said, it's so easy to get shot at. The people with substance abuse problems seek no aid, unless you count helping themselves to the medicine cabinets of the elderly (such as my late great-grandmother). I'm drowning here, and I would love for someone to reach out to me.
So... my favorite Dr. Seuss book is the Lorax, and as you all know, a new movie recently came out. I instantly fell in love with it as well, and I got really bored today, so I decided to make a design tribute to the Thneed company- you know, the evil corporation owned by the Once-Ler that destroys the Truffila forest and makes the land uninhabitable for all the critters there.
So, when you were little, what was your favorite show? Some folk liked Care Bears, some folk liked Thundercats, and some folk, like me, liked Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I owned a red bandanna, I painted my face green, I made shells out of cardboard, and I pretended that I knew ninjitzu by just jumping around and smashing things. I owned every cartoon, movie, comic, poster, I bought every toy I could find. Everyone had a favorite turtle, and as you can see by the pic I drew to the left there, mine was Raphael. 
Then I clicked on the article and actually read it. I must say that... it struck me as odd. And I, obviously, am a fan who's ok with watching Vanilla Ice Dance his way through the ending of Turtles 2. It takes a lot to strike me as odd. See, the article said that in this edition, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles would be neither teenagers, nor mutants, nor turtles. They would, instead, be adult aliens. For... some reason. I'm not sure why. Michael Bay is directing, which, honestly, cannot be a good sign (ask any hardcore TF fan) and has been making all the press appearances, so... I don't know exactly how much input he has script wise, but it seems to be disproportionate. Where are Eastman and Laird? Does anyone have a link so that I can see what they think about this radical change? It could greatly influence my opinion, because right now, I'm viewing this movie with a lot of skepticism. But I don't know if it's my overreaching cynicism, or if this is as... well, off as it sounds.
