I Won’t Subscribe To Your Fucked Up Elitist Logic

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Here is an article on me from 2009.  View Magazine.

Doug Hill’s local infamy was perhaps confirmed, for better or for worse, with his band Radar Hate.  The band lay on the periphery of the local punk scene with Hill adopting the Doug Hell moniker, alongside band mates with names like Negator, Badge and Sparkles.  Over four years, with one collection of songs, “ The Stress That Gives Men Wings “ , Radar Hate probably made their biggest splash at a show they weren’t even playing.

Hell’s band were vehement about joining Amp Records but at the label’s Christmas benefit show for a women’s shelter, negotiations broke down amid what Hell admits was too much alcohol.  Allegations of drunkenness, wanton mistletoe kissing, and a pulled fire alarm in the local club meant Radar Hate’s reputation as trouble would ripple far beyond that night, and getting gigs in Hamilton was a little harder.  It wasn’t long before the band simply packed it in, and Hell would realize that issues in the band were perhaps more serious with his move to Oshawa to follow a girlfriend.

I still get a lot of questions about that night, grimaces Hell.  It led toward a lot of drama and had us pegged as being women haters because of the nature of the benefit show.

The Mental Health program out here is better than any of the other place I’ve lived, reasons Hell.  When I was living in Hamilton, I was shunned because of my mental illness.  People never really understood it, but out here people seem to have a better grasp of me.  I don’t blame Hamilton for not understanding me.  The truth is I am just more honest about my disability.

With the move, a new perspective and some more understanding, Hell struck up a solo career channeling his energies into two CDs worth of acoustic music that bridges folk and punk, coming off as a strange crossing between Mike Ness, Tom Waits and Leonard Cohen but with one serious edge.  This week,  Doug Hell returns to his old stomping grounds with a live showcase for his most recent CD, When A Madman Loves A Woman.

I have found my voice on this CD, offers Hell.   I happen to think my sound, although acoustic, is still pretty raw and punky.  I think it’s the honesty and purity of acoustic music.  It’s just you and your guitar.  There is no one else to hide behind.

These days, Hell is very forthcoming and perhaps easier to get along with.  Although new fans might find his 6 foot 4 inch, 240 pound frame a tad intimidating at first he’s more like a larger, perhaps gruffer, Canadian version of Daniel Johnson.  Dealing with his own demons, Hell is now reaching out to new audiences and while Hamilton area performances remain a rarity, Hell is working on things to make many things change for the better.

It’s been tough getting shows in the Hamilton area since the Radar Hate incident, but Burlington is a city I have always been quite fond of, continues Hell.  I love the Red Rooster but most importantly, my parents are going to come out to the show because they live in Hamilton.  That will be nice.
I live with mental illness, he adds. It’s something I tried to hide most of my life by being reclusive for the most part.  Any interaction I had with people was usually pretty negative.  I was not an easy person to get along with.  I guess you could say I am offering some apologies on this album, or at least trying to offer an explanation as to why I am the way I am. I don’t hide behind my mental illness, but sometimes people are caught in the crossfire.

 

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Whirling Hall Of Anxiety

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I was going to realize my dream of meeting The Butthole Surfers and see them perform live at The Phoenix Concert Theatre in Toronto.  With the assistance of Myspace, I managed to find guitarist, Paul Leary.  We shared correspondence regularly and often.  Most musicians have their heroes.  Paul Leary was MY guitar hero.  I loved his ability to make his guitar sound drunk one minute, and then like it was having a panic attack the next.

Paul gave me a three person guestlist for the show.  I decided to take Sick-Girl , who I literally just started dating, and one of my best friends, Hurricane, who was the only person I knew who was as geeked about the Butthole Surfers as I was.

Sick Girl’s 1972 Mercedez got us there in one piece.  I mean it was only Toronto but if you saw this Mercedez…  There is a lot to say for German efficiency.  Germany is a country that was decimated by war TWICE and still manages to be one of the most efficient countries today!  What does this have to do with my story?

When we got there I was a little nervous, wondering if Paul would actually remember to put us on the list.  He did.  We got in with no problems.  Once inside, there was a significant problem.  We all realized that we were starving.  The concert hall didn’t serve food.  No snacks.  Nothing.  No problem.  We could run down to Dominos down the street right?  Wrong.  Once you were inside, you can’t leave for any reason or they don’t let you back in.

I don’t know about any of you guys, but when I need to eat, become a starving, spitting, snarling fiend.   And that’s being nice about it.  To me, there is no rage like the rage that encompasses me when I need to eat.  The rage that encompasses me when people talk in movie theaters, not withstanding.

I bugged the goons at the door to let me out.  They refused.  If I left then I couldn’t come back in.  I begged and they weren’t budging.  It was only when I told them I left my insulin in my car, they relented and told me I better be back within 5 minutes.  No problem.  I sprinted down to the corner store like a crazy person.

In the store, I just pointed and grabbed.  Chips, pop, chocolate bars, a loaf of bread, pastries…..

Four minutes and fifty-nine seconds later I returned victoriously to the Phoenix with two plastic bags, stuffed to capacity with goods.  The handle was ripping from the weight of one of the bags.  The same hulking black bouncer that wouldn’t let me leave, stopped me.

“You can’t go in there.”  He stated, very matter-of-factly.

“You guys need to make up your mind.”  I retorted between clenched teeth.

This guy made me look like a piqsqueak.  And I am no slouch at six feet four inches, and two hundred and sixty pounds.  But I have something this professional wrestler doesn’t have.  Hunger rage.  He eyed me suspiciously.

“I thought you said you had to go get your insulin.”

“Yeah well I forgot it.  So I had to go get all this junk so I don’t go into diabetic shock and start break-dancing.”

“Well you can’t bring that in there.  But you can eat it before going back in.”

I could work with that.  I started inhaling the contents of bag one.  I almost choked twice from trying to eat and breathe at the same time.  After about five minutes of this the Ving Rhames lookalike looked at my snacks hungrily.

“Say, whatcha got in there?..” He asked.

Ving and I ate munchies with a vengeance.  I listened to bouncing war stories and other tales.  After he helped me kill the first bag of snacks, he told me I could bring the other bag in but I had to hide it.  I could live with that too.

On my way in the ticket ladies were eyeing me incredulously from their cubicle wondering how I managed to become nine months pregnant within a matter of minutes.

I found Sick Girl and Hurricane in the concert floor area.  I couldn’t help but notice how dead the place was.  I always thought Hurricane and I were the only Butthole Surfers fans on the planet, but now I was beginning to believe it.

They got into the snacks, but not quite with the enthusiasm I did.  I decided to head on backstage to meet Paul Leary.  I ended up running into a scowling Ving’s brother.  I explained to him I was on the guestlist.  He stated that didn’t entitle me to getting backstage.  I was furious.  I didn’t have the heart to use the snacks Hurricane and Sick Girl were eating to negotiate with this goon.

On the stage I saw a dude walking around fiddling with equipment.  It wasn’t one of the Butthole Surfers.  He was too normal looking.  I beckoned him over.  I handed him a Doug Hell CD and told him that Paul was expecting it.  He shook my hand and introduced himself to me as Andrew.  He disappeared for a minute and returned and said something to Ving’s brother.  Ving 2 looked hard at me, and moved the derelict barricade to let a smirking Doug Hell into the stage area.

I followed Andrew around the corner into the backstage area and BAM!  There was Paul Leary.  I am pretty sure a few of you out there have had the pleasure of meeting your idols.  Some of you probably kept it cool.  Some of you probably started babbling like a dumbass about the dumbest dumbass things you could babble about incoherently like a lunatic.  I opted for the latter.

“Holy shit it’s you -here’s my CD- oh right you already have -you should see the car we came in- Hurricane and Sick Girl are over there- they wouldn’t let me go get food -I got snacks – but they wouldn’t let me bring my snacks in- they wouldn’t let me back here-”

A frowning Paul Leary asked me if I wanted to go have a beer.  Of course I wanted to go have a beer!

Paul, Andrew, and I were sitting in a tacky looking room upstairs with mirror walls and ugly trim.  I was drinking a 50 and they were drinking a Steam Whistle . It was during this time I found out that strange V-Shaped bass that Pinkus played was a Harmony, not a Gibson like I thought.  I also learned the trick to Paul making his guitar sound drunk, was to play it while being drunk.  “Independent Worm Saloon” was his favourite album to make.  For “Who Was In My Room Last Night”, he used a custom shop G&L Asat with a Bigsby installed.  The beginning of “Goofy’s Concern” didn’t make that dive-bombing sound with a tremolo, he would literally crank the machine-head on his guitar to lower the note out of tune then fly back into tune using a Boss Chromatic tuner.

While I was getting the answers to the questions I always had, Andrew was rolling a joint with the greenest weed I’d ever seen.   I had never ever been a pot smoker.  I could never handle the high.  I get paranoid.  Now I’ve heard other people mention that pot makes them paranoid too, and they LIKE that.  Well I don’t just get paranoid.  I get irrationally paranoid and it takes me hours to calm down.

Did that stop me?  Of course not!  When Paul passed me the joint I accepted it with the confidence of knowing that I was in the company of my idol.  What could I possibly have to be paranoid about?  I took about five generous hits off that joint.  I should also mention that I am a smoker of tobacco.  People have pointed out to me on several occasion that I sometimes forget to exhale…..

Then it all began.  It suddenly dawned on me that I fell for the Butthole Surfers’ trap.  How could I be so fucking stupid?!  This was history repeating itself!  Back in the 80s they gave Daniel Johnston a hit of acid that would send an already mentally fragile human being over the edge.  I too was a mentally fragile human being.  Daniel Johnston’s favourite band was the Butthole Surfers.  MY favourite band was the Butthole Surfers…… AUGHHHHH!!!!

I was terrified.  And when I say terrified, you best believe that I was sitting there fearing for my life.  I was going to die in that room.  Butthole Surfers had an extremely shady history with their fans.  In fact, after one show in particular in Canada, it was rumoured that a fan was seen leaving with drummer, Tereasa Nervosa, and was never seen again.  My heart started thumping in my chest.  It sounded like an extremely loud and irritating band.  Oh wait. That was actually the opening band downstairs, Psychadelic Ill.

As I was lamenting about murderer, Tereasa Nervosa, she decided to make her entrance.  Even I am not poetic enough to explain to you how physically hideous this woman is.  She looks like Death eating a cracker.  It was like a zombie straight out of a Lucio Fulci movie.  With the exception of my mother-in-law this woman is the scariest looking human being I’ve ever seen.

She immediately started inquiring about my tattoos.  I was too scared to tell her what they meant, not to mention the cat was making a slick getaway with my tongue.  I could only stare at her mute with terror.

Paul was busy telling a story about the time there were aliens gaggling around in his backyard.  I’d had about enough.

I rose to my feet and tried to seem as menacing as possible.  I was walking out of there one way or another and they would be foolish to try and stop me.  Daniel Johnston was a wimp.  I wasn’t.  Or at least I looked like I wasn’t.

In actuality I told them I wanted to go see the opening band.  Paul offered to walk me back down.  I agreed but let him walk ahead of me just in case he tried anything funny.  Back downstairs he gave me a laminate and told me to come back after the show.  I took the laminate but had no intentions of doing that.  I wasn’t stupid.  I tossed the laminate after he left my sight.

Back in the concert area, it was war.  The once empty venue was now teeming with 40 and 50 somethings.

We found a safe place to hide up on the balcony in the corner.  There was no way in Hell Tereasa Nervosa could find us up there.  Even if she did happen to peer up and see me, there was no way that crotchety old hag could get through a thousand people before I made it outside through the smoking area and over the fence.

Now this was my first Butthole Surfers experience live.  They had a reputation for their disturbing live performances that were both decadent and violent.  But that still didn’t prepare me in my extremely paranoid and psychotic state for the movies they played in the background while performing, not to mention the ear-splitting volume and sheer racket.

For the next hour and a half of my adult life I felt like I was inside a horror movie. Images on the giant screen included penis operations, violent death scenes, and Charlie’s Angels clips. It all became abundantly clear that Tereasa didn’t need to find me. Their performance onstage was going to kill us all in one fell swoop.

We somehow made it out alive.

And I’m still here.

For now. But I know it’s only a matter of time before they come calling for me.

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Street Dementia

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Today I was in Foodland and I was looking for hair gel.  I reached for what I thought was Ultimate Hold, but it turned out I was in baked goods, and reaching for the Ultimate Cinnamon Roll.  If I were hungry at the time I would be the luckiest fella in the world.  But I wasn’t.  I just wanted to do my hair and no one would get hurt…..

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Don’t You Dare

 

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Hi. My name is Doug Hell.

How did I get such a treachrous name you ask? Well as most of you know, Hell isn’t my last name. My real last name is Hill.

Also, some of you already know how I adopted the aforementioned moniker. But for those who don’t, I love telling this story.

In 1999 (shit that ain’t THAT long ago) I was living with a friend and my girlfriend. The two of them would later run off together and get married but that is another story entirely. Well one day a GST cheque came for me and it was addressed to “Doug Hell”. As hilarious as my room mate and girl thought this was, I was pissed. How was I going to cash something that was made out to someone else? He started calling me Doug Hell and then introduced me to all of his friends as that. I was the new guy in town (Ottawa) so it stuck fairly easily.

Pretty silly eh? I mean with a name like Doug Hell, you would hope there is some kind of hardcore background there. Negatory. It’s boring.

I think I am going through my second midlife crisis.

 

Thanks for tuning in people. May peace and honour be with you all.

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Echoes Of Retribution

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How many of you are being turned inside out with animosity?  Someone wronged you.  They messed with you.  You want retribution.

Oh right.  So what you’re telling the offender is that they touched your life so deeply, that you’re going to do the same in return.

How about this?  Be happy.  Wait now.  Don’t update your Facebook status claiming out of control happiness, hoping your nemesis gets wind of it.  Nine times out of ten they know you’re full of crap anyway.  Truly happy people are just truly happy.  They don’t need the validation of people to legitimize their happiness.

I often muse at what the world would be really like if people were as happy as they claim to be on Facebook.  I’m sure their crippling exaltation isn’t an attempt to frustrate someone who is equally unhappy.

Anyway, when the product of your vindication notices you’re happy, it will mess them all up.  It will eat them because they know they’re not happy.  The reason they tried to to make you unhappy in the first place was because they need you to feel the way they feel.  What they are too stupid to realize, is they can’t fix themselves by breaking you.

Being mean and hurtful to someone is kinda like peeing your pants to stay warm in Antarctica.  It will make you feel better for a few minutes, but then…

I can’t think of a better way to get revenge.  Remember, you have to genuinely be happy.  Not just walking around and grabbing someone by the collar and screaming, “I’M HAPPY!”, in their face, knowing full well you’re not.  If you don’t believe yourself, they’re sure not going to believe you.

Now start getting even!!

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We Will Smile And Welcome The Rain

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I’ve been offered a writing deal.  I’m going to take it.  This means WordPress will be shut down.  Not only is WordPress silly, but it’s irritating.  The only thing I am going to miss is the analytics feature.  It was fun to see how many people were reading and what parts of the world they were reading from.  Seriously though.  Who do I know in Portugal and Germany?

I’ve been assured I’ll still be able to see where stuff is coming from.  But I’ve also been assured I won’t be shackled by censorship.  This pleases me to no end.

I would like to thank my benefactor for this amazing opportunity.  Stay tuned guys.  I’m thinking the domain will be doughell.com.  I also toyed with the idea of Doug Hell’s Kitchen.  Any thoughts on this would be appreciated, but I probably won’t go with your ideas because mine will always infinitely be better. Nice try though.

Whether you love me, or hate me, thanks for reading.

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Under The Tree

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My past is multiple choice.

I can’t decide on how my past went.  One day I remember it happening one way.  Another day I remember it happening another way.  It’s good to have options I guess.  Often I wonder how much of it’s true.  How much of it is my creativity governing me?

I wandered off when I was three years old.  I remember that much.  I wasn’t particularly fond of my family.  There were just too many people in it.  I was the middle child, and I had an imagination god damn it!

Why stay in that house on 18 Alice Street North in Essex, Ontario?  It sucked.  My step-dad was a cranky and sadistic marine.  In actuality he was a mechanic, but he had a legendary temper, and was extremely abusive.  You got your ass beat bad for stealing a piece of cheese from the fridge in the middle of the night.  It’s hard to imagine what made the little 5 foot nothing asshole so miserable.  Perhaps he hated being short and figured that whupping me regularly and often would ensure that I would never get taller than him.

I say with complete pride and arrogance that I am 6′ 4 today.

Yeah, life at home sucked.  If my dad wasn’t beating me it was my older brother.  If he wasn’t beating me, he was definitely terrorizing me.  I don’t fault him for that today though.  He was doing what a big brother does.  In his defense though he took exception to anyone outside the family thinking they could rough me up.  But back then I couldn’t appreciate that. I was an extremely immature 3 year old.

There were four of us kids.  We were all boys. Ziggy was my oldest brother.  He was about a year older than Jeff (my nemesis) and they were like best friends.  I had a younger brother named Larry.  He was alright.  He was a chubby little simpleton who everyone liked.

So I walked.  I walked away from that house on Alice street in search of a better life.  A destination wasn’t thought of.  I just walked.  Initially I ended up at my big brother’s school, Dowswell Elementary.  It seemed like a good idea at the time, despite the fact that I got my ass kicked a week earlier for getting stuck on the roof of that very school.

I decided to relax at the school for a spell before continuing my journey.  It seemed a good place to chill.  There was no possible way that anyone could find me there.  It was a whole two blocks away from my house.  My brothers would be playing.  My mom would be visiting old Roy Tesky, and my step-dad would be watching Hill Street Blues.

After hanging out at the school for a while, I got approached by some big kids.  We’re talking huge.  They had to be in at least Grade 2 They were a little younger than my big brother, Jeff.  They asked me what I was doing at the school, and asked me why I wasn’t at home.  They wanted to know where my parents were.  I told them that it really wasn’t any of their business, and if they kept bugging me, I would get my big brothers to clobber them.

They looked at each other and pondered my proposition.  It must have been a good one, because they took their soccer ball and went home.

Who the fuck were they to ask ME what I wasn’t doing at home?  I had no interest in what they weren’t doing at home.

Since people seemed to be all too interested in why I was hanging out at a school, which was not a no fly zone for 3 year old kids, I decided to move on.  It didn’t make sense to stay there if some dumb second graders could grill me about my diabolical intentions in a free country.

Next was Sadler’s Pond.  It was the home of Big Ben, the legendary giant snapping turtle.  Everyone was afraid of Big ol’ Ben.  I never saw him but Jeff used to tell me about him.  He was the most feared monster in the land who fed on little brothers.

I wasn’t afraid.  I mean, he was a turtle but I was a real person.  That turtle thought he was so big and bad?  There was NO ONE bigger and badder than my brothers.  If this turtle tried its shit with me, not only would he feel my fearless wrath, but he would have to deal with my asshole brothers too.  That thought alone was enough to make me feel sorry for the turtle.

Sadler’s Pond was a forest with a gigantic pond in the middle of it.  It had some serious wildlife . I had seen turtles, snakes, frogs, foxes, cats, dogs, people, and gigantic leeches.  Leeches that were an easy 50 centimeters long when they stretched out.

It was also home to Big Ben.

Well I spent a good couple hours searching for this fucker.  All I saw were some little Bens, garter snakes, and a million frogs.  After serious consideration I realized they would all make great pets.  I found a mud covered box and put every reptile and amphibian I came across in it.  I kept it closed tight so none of them would fall out and get hurt.

After searching about an hour I took a break.  I remember being really tired and hungry at that point.  I sat on the bank of the pond and kept my eyes peeled for Big Ben.  He was smart to stay hidden.  I was 3 years old.  Not some dumb little baby.

After about ten minutes, I was approached by a big female person with a little person about my age.  She wondered the same things that the kids at the school were wondering.  Now things were just starting to get creepy.  Why in the hell was everyone so interested in where my parents were, and where I lived, and how come I wasn’t at home with my parents, or just at home, or whatever the fuck?

I wasn’t sure exactly how to answer this nosey big female’s questions.  I tired the same scare tactics I used on the kids at the school.  Might as well stick with a winner.  The big female person just kinda frowned and asked me if my big brothers were close by.  I said yes and she seemed satisfied with that answer.  Geez, of course they were close by.  We lived in Essex.  The population was about 6000. Either way, they were close by and that reminded me that I better get a move-on.

I picked up my box of pets and peered inside to see how they were getting along.  Now to this day I cannot unsee the disturbing contents of the box.  I only got a second and a half glance before I dropped it in terror.  It was a fucking massacre in there.  It was a battle of the reptiles and the Little Bens came out on top.  They were the only ones that weren’t in bloody pieces.  I ran from the box and into the Viscount Trailer Park beside Sadler’s Pond.

My appetite was gone.

The Viscount Tralier Park was very nice.  It’s not your typical trailer park you would make fun of.  It was actually a beautiful community with nice paved roads.  I wandered the streets and remembered that my mom had a friend who lived there by the name of Gladdys.  I had been to her house (trailer) a few times, and she had given me some ice cream.  I found my previous hunger coming back.

It was time to find Gladdys.  It was dark now.  Incidentally it was also  ice cream time.  In fact, Gladdys was a really nice woman.  She seemed to like me just fine too.  I would go live with Gladdys.  I would never get beat up by my brother again.  My dad wouldn’t be able to beat me anymore.  It was a no brainer.

After some time I found what I thought was her trailer.  I knocked on the door and some male big person that talked in a funny voice answered.

I asked him where Gladdys was.  He said there was no Gladdys there and started asking me the golden questions that I had been hearing all night.  There was no way I could use the big brothers threat on this big person, so I cut to the chase and just told him to give me some ice cream.  He laughed a little and beckoned to a big female person.

The big female person came to the door and began to ask where why alone where how .. …. … …. …

I was getting cranky.  Everyone was so god damn interested in things that I could never possibly in ten million fucking years care about.  I was starving to death.  I had to give up on the idea of having pets because they couldn’t get along. And at this point I just really wanted some fucking ice cream.

I repeated my request for ice cream and they invited me inside.  I may have been a little kid but I knew well enough to not go into a stranger’s house.  My parents told me that all the time.  My mom told me that if someone ever tried that on me to go crazy and start screaming for help.

I did just that.

The whole time I was carrying on they both just kinda babbled back and forth to each other in some kinda weird talking.  When I was done with my coniption they asked me if I would mind going somewhere else for ice cream.

Of course I didn’t mind.  Ice cream was ice cream.  What fucking difference did it make?  I WANTED ICE CREAM AND GETTING IT STARTED TO SEEM LIKE A HUGE FUCKING HASSLE!

So we got into their car and drove to the Big V Plaza.  When we got there I was greeted by my parents, and the police.  My mom was really happy to see me, and my dad wanted to kill me.  That night I don’t think I caught a beating.  Perhaps my dad felt that me not getting my ice cream was suitable enough punishment although I couldn’t understand at the time what I was being punished for.

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Disassociation vs Contempt

 

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No future.  Huge past.

My past is a huge mystery.  Tomorrow seems like an eternity ago.  I remember all kind of shit but it’s not always the same way.  I shouldn’t complain.  At least I got options.

Mother Lode Out.

* * *

Better Person

I’m guided by spirituality.  But not like most.  My soul ain’t accounted for by the father, the son, or the holy ghost. Fearing evil was a dream, sadly misunderstood.  As I walk through the valley of life, I will fear no good.  I try to be a better person, but that doesn’t mean I’m a sucker, or weak.

These positive thoughts of mine don’t belong with these sacrilicious words, this sacrilicious song.  I’ve yet to meet a tomorrow that I didn’t already love.  But that’s no thanks to your higher power, and His elitist kingdom up above.  I try to be a better person, but I can do it without religion.

Where’s the logic in this book of psalms?  We don’t need the ten commandments to know we need to get along.  I’ll spend my Sundays at the bar getting wasted just for fun.  How is that a sin if I’m not hurting anyone?

I don’t need your book to tell me that lying and stealing is wrong.  People make mistakes.  They’re human.  But that doesn’t mean they don’t belong in better place with all the better ones who try to be better people.  I try to be a better person, but I can do it on my own.

I don’t need redemption.  I’m sorry every day for the good people who think they’ll go to Hell if they don’t get on their knees and pray.  It’s just that kinda bullshit that dispelled any faith I had.  How can you expect good people to pray, especially if their knees are bad.  I try to be a better person.

But sometimes, it’s just not worth it.

No way.

* * *

I have the ability to see into people.  I see good and bad.  In my reality, a person’s goodness is not gauged on how easily they smile or how nice they are capable of being.  Then again there really is no good and bad.

I have met psychopaths and sociopaths in my life, but there currently aren’t any in my reach.  If I were to engage one, I would tread lightly.  A psychopath is most ruthless to those who have discovered them.  With my ability to see into one’s soul, I am an enemy to them.  A psychopath is ruthless, but I too am ruthless.  I don’t fear psychopaths.  Don’t think that I am a coward for being smart enough to avoid danger.

 

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The Hardest Choice Is Usually The Right One

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We’re two beautiful people sharing the same moment in time.

When I fell in love with you, every fantasy I have ever had died.  Fantasies are just what they are.  They’re fantasies.  When I fell in love, everything I ever dreamed about will became a reality.  I live my fantasy.  Therefore it will no longer a fantasy.

I know I’m in love with you everything I do is to impress you.  I will be the best version of myself without corrupting the integrity of who I am.

I know I’m in love because I’ll find myself making concessions.  I think of doing things that I never thought I would do, or do again.

I know I am in love because I am ready to compromise.

I understand that love is extremely fragile.  It’s not as powerful as you read about in Harlequin novels.  True uncompromising love can be destroyed.  I’ll do well to remember that.  My love is be righteous because I subscribe to that theory.  I love because I respect that theory.

Contrary to popular belief, love does NOT conquer all.  Cliche.  I do suppose it can build a bridge.  I reckon it can’t be hurried.  It most certainly stinks sometimes.

I am loving myself into absolute abject insanity.  But can you think of a more sincere way of loving someone?  My insane love will not persecute me.  The insane love that encompasses me with its all encompassing insanity encompassed by more love will always be there for me.  It’s a crazy adventure, that will begin at you with one, and end in infinity.

 

 

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Maybe When My Back’s Turned Things Are A Different Way

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America did something right.  That cop who shot that kid wasn’t sent to jail.  This pleases me to no end.  This is a proud day for America.

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