Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 43
June 11, 2019
It's Not Porn
CHORUS
It’s!
Not!
Porn!
VERSE 1
Lesbian ladies on a double-decker bus
Homophobic men spying on their love
“Give us a show and make the fuck out
While we snort with our big piggy snouts”
The answer was no because they said so
Barbaric men decked them in the nose
Punching, screaming, secretly creaming
Where are the police when you need them?
CHORUS
It’s!
Not!
Porn!
VERSE 2
Unconscious girl behind a dumpster
Rapist swimmer summons the thunder
He called it twenty minutes of action
As he grinned with sick satisfaction
Slap on the wrist for Mr. White Privilege
A new idiot for the concrete village
He blamed it all on the damn alcohol
But at least his career never had to fall
CHORUS
It’s!
Not!
Porn!
BRIDGE
The faces of hate in the Sunday paper
The violence never seems to taper
No abortions for the pregnant victims
The right-wing never wants to listen
VERSE 3
If they dress like “sluts” and you grab their butts
Don’t be surprised when they kick you in the nuts
A revealing cosplay doesn’t give you the right
To fill her head full of trauma every fucking night
The real world isn’t like the porn on your computer
This urban war zone isn’t a First Person Shooter
You weren’t the first and you’re not the last
To need to have your head pulled out of your ass
CHORUS X4
It’s!
Not!
Porn!
It’s!
Not!
Porn!
VERSE 1
Lesbian ladies on a double-decker bus
Homophobic men spying on their love
“Give us a show and make the fuck out
While we snort with our big piggy snouts”
The answer was no because they said so
Barbaric men decked them in the nose
Punching, screaming, secretly creaming
Where are the police when you need them?
CHORUS
It’s!
Not!
Porn!
VERSE 2
Unconscious girl behind a dumpster
Rapist swimmer summons the thunder
He called it twenty minutes of action
As he grinned with sick satisfaction
Slap on the wrist for Mr. White Privilege
A new idiot for the concrete village
He blamed it all on the damn alcohol
But at least his career never had to fall
CHORUS
It’s!
Not!
Porn!
BRIDGE
The faces of hate in the Sunday paper
The violence never seems to taper
No abortions for the pregnant victims
The right-wing never wants to listen
VERSE 3
If they dress like “sluts” and you grab their butts
Don’t be surprised when they kick you in the nuts
A revealing cosplay doesn’t give you the right
To fill her head full of trauma every fucking night
The real world isn’t like the porn on your computer
This urban war zone isn’t a First Person Shooter
You weren’t the first and you’re not the last
To need to have your head pulled out of your ass
CHORUS X4
It’s!
Not!
Porn!
June 9, 2019
Normal Is Overrated
VERSE 1
If creativity is considered crazy
Normalcy is considered lazy
If rock and roll makes me evil
Then fuck the holiest of people
If awkwardness makes me a pariah
Your social mask makes you a liar
If being me is a sin and a curse
Being you is ten times worse
CHORUS
Normal is overrated
Life is fucking wasted
Individuals sacrificed
For the capitalist price
VERSE 2
If normalcy will get me a job
I’ll lie on the couch like a slob
If mediocrity will get me paid
I’d rather sleep in the grave
If ordinary is the way to live
Two weeks notice I shall give
If average is the new future
I’d rather be a lowlife loser
CHORUS
Normal is overrated
Life is fucking wasted
Individuals sacrificed
For the capitalist price
BRIDGE
I’m too good for you
And your money too
You’ll never change me
You’ll just enrage me
VERSE 3
If you don’t believe in me
Set my crazy ass forever free
If you want to leave my side
The coffin is where you hide
If you want to cancel my career
I’ll give you something to fear
I’ll do whatever the hell I want
If normal is right, I want to be wrong
CHORUS
Normal is overrated
Life is fucking wasted
Individuals sacrificed
For the capitalist price
If creativity is considered crazy
Normalcy is considered lazy
If rock and roll makes me evil
Then fuck the holiest of people
If awkwardness makes me a pariah
Your social mask makes you a liar
If being me is a sin and a curse
Being you is ten times worse
CHORUS
Normal is overrated
Life is fucking wasted
Individuals sacrificed
For the capitalist price
VERSE 2
If normalcy will get me a job
I’ll lie on the couch like a slob
If mediocrity will get me paid
I’d rather sleep in the grave
If ordinary is the way to live
Two weeks notice I shall give
If average is the new future
I’d rather be a lowlife loser
CHORUS
Normal is overrated
Life is fucking wasted
Individuals sacrificed
For the capitalist price
BRIDGE
I’m too good for you
And your money too
You’ll never change me
You’ll just enrage me
VERSE 3
If you don’t believe in me
Set my crazy ass forever free
If you want to leave my side
The coffin is where you hide
If you want to cancel my career
I’ll give you something to fear
I’ll do whatever the hell I want
If normal is right, I want to be wrong
CHORUS
Normal is overrated
Life is fucking wasted
Individuals sacrificed
For the capitalist price
Due Process
“Savages. Fucking savages,” said McKenzie Youngblood under her breath as she power-walked through the halls of Aspire Mental Hospital. Every jacked up orderly and nurse made her skin crawl. Every image of “crazies” suffering in silence on their padded cells made her stomach turn. The walls and floors probably hadn’t seen a sponge and bucket since the Reagan Administration. If they did, it was most likely off the backs of these patients.
The closer she stomped toward Dr. Oliver Killian’s office, the hotter McKenzie’s blood boiled. Her flat shoes were the most audible part of the hallway. Her chubby scowl and gray business suit indicated she meant…well…business. Deep inside, a wildfire began to grow as these white orderlies scowled at her black skin. Nonetheless, she was a professional first and foremost. Just deliver the papers to Dr. Killian, get in, and get out. A pepper spray bottle in her leather briefcase would only be used as a last resort.
McKenzie adjusted her suit and skirt and gave a hard series of knocks on Dr. Killian’s office door. “Come in!” he commanded and she did just that.
The first thing she noticed was the pristine condition of his office. Bookshelves with infinite wisdom, wooden plaques containing various college degrees, a marble office table with the latest computer technology sitting on it, and not one speck of dirt or dust unless one were to count Dr. Oliver Killian sitting with his hands behind his white fluffy hair. He adjusted his glasses and asked, “What can I do for you, young lady?”
“My name isn’t young lady. It’s McKenzie Youngblood and I’m a process server. The Paulson City Courthouse sent me here.” She pulled a thick manila envelope out of her briefcase and dropped it unceremoniously on the marble table. “You’re being sued by your former patients. Rough treatment, suppression of rights, unnecessary procedures, lengthy incarceration with no due process of any kind…you’re in deep trouble, Dr. Killian. It’s your right and your responsibility to contact the courthouse within a week of receiving these papers. Otherwise, the case will go on without you. Any questions?”
Dr. Killian’s sarcastically pleasant demeanor turned to silent rage as he rifled through the papers and read them hurriedly. “Psychiatric patients don’t have rights. This case will never stick.”
“Well, then I guess you have nothing to worry about, Doctor.” McKenzie leaned forward and said, “And I use that term loosely.”
Slamming the papers on the table, Dr. Killian, without raising his voice, seethed as he said, “Our facility is one of the best in the country. We are the good guys. We’re not the ones committing heinous acts on the street. We’re not the ones making life difficult for our loved ones. These patients are here because they deserve to be here. They’re a threat to society. How dare you question my methods!”
“Technically, I don’t have to stand here and have a debate with you. I could just walk out of this hospital and tell the judges you were served. But I’ve got to know something before I head out. When was the last time these patients have seen the summer sun? When was the last time they’ve had visitors? When was the last time they’ve had love or kindness of any sort? I know how this place works. Beatings, lobotomies, electroshock, repeat. Beatings, lobotomies, electroshock, repeat. Day after day, every hour on the hour. This isn’t a hospital. It’s a death camp, especially for minorities and women, which make up eighty percent of your patient roster.”
Dr. Killian stood up and slammed his palms on the table, still maintaining his silent anger. “We use those methods because they work. They’re the only thing that will. Crazy people don’t learn any other way. They don’t listen to reason. They don’t comprehend order and decency. They don’t live in our reality. If we don’t do this to them, the world will. These patients should be thankful for the lessons we teach them. Instead, they want to make a few bucks off of us and complain about us to the liberal media. If anybody should feel oppressed right now, it’s me and my staff!”
McKenzie leaned in closer until she was almost touching noses with Dr. Killian. She did her best to contain her own anger as she told him, “You’d better hope the judges and jury buy into your twisted propaganda. If not, then you’ve got a shit storm on your hands, buster. Who knows? Maybe this dump will be closed once and for all. Good luck with your trial.” Just as she was turning around, Dr. Killian grabbed hold of her wrist, his bony fingers barely making a dent in her thick skin. “You have three seconds to pull your hand away and then I’m whipping out the pepper spray.”
“Okay, Miss Youngblood. You win. You can have a tighter grip if you prefer that.” Upon releasing his clasp, Dr. Killian pointed his elongated, creepy finger at the door to his office.
McKenzie turned around and saw two beefy orderlies standing there with their arms folded and their faces fixed in death stares. “Great idea, Dr. Killian,” she said. “You can have yet another lawsuit on your hands and hemorrhage money like no tomorrow. You tell these orderlies to back off or I’m taking your ass to court.”
Dr. Killian whispered into her ear, “What good is a lawsuit…if you can’t even make it to the courthouse? You think you’re the only one to serve me papers lately? You think you’re the only one who’s trying to sue me? We’re not just doctors and nurses. We’re magicians. We make lawsuits…disappear.” He licked her ear hole to punctuate his last point.
She turned around to try and slap him, but he ducked out of the way and allows his orderlies to grab her tightly by both arms. McKenzie struggled and fought while screaming curses at her captors, but their grips would only serve to leave purple bruises on her arms later on. They bent her over the table and yanked her hair so that she was facing Dr. Killian, who glared at her with ophidian eyes.
“Nobody’s taking my money away,” snarled Dr. Killian. “We’re making enough of it as it is. Turns out locking people up is quite the lucrative business. The more patients we’ve got, the richer we all are. It’s basic economics.” He leaned his face close to McKenzie’s. “You’d have to be crazy to stand up to capitalism. So crazy, in fact…you’d need your own padded cell.” With the orderlies’ hands firmly behind McKenzie’s neck, Dr. Killian planted a sloppy tongue kiss on her lips and slammed her forehead against the table.
McKenzie’s head swam as she was roughly dropped to the ground. Sparkling stars and colorful clouds filled her vision as darkness threatened to overtake her. She tried to stand up on her own two feet, but her legs and arms felt like rubber. Any last chance of rebellion was snuffed away when an orderly kicked her in the skull and sent her on a one-way ticket to dreamland.
It felt like an eternity since she slipped into unconscious hell. Waking up from it proved to be an even bigger drain on her body. She tried to wiggle around yet again, but leather straps held her horizontally against a metal table. She tried to yell for help, but her lips were held together with what appeared to be medical tape. Despite being in bondage, she never stopped struggling, especially when Dr. Killian’s hazy image swirled into view.
“Fighting isn’t going to make things better, Miss Youngblood. Or should I say, Patient #855341. Why fight something you have absolutely no control over? Why keep fighting and expecting different results? That is the true definition of insanity. You’ll eventually leave this place like any other patient of mine. How soon depends on your ability to conform to my rules.
From this point going forward, you will do what I say. You will think the way I tell you to think. You will be cured of your insanity. Your brain is mine to play with. Your body is mine to puppeteer. It’s crazy to rebel against basic human order. It’s crazy to think you’re capable of winning. It’s crazy to bring a can of pepper spray to a gunfight.”
As soon as Dr. Killian dangled the can of pepper spray in front of McKenzie’s face, she opened her mouth as wide as she could and ripped the tape off that way. She spit in Dr. Killian’s face before taking deep breaths and trying to relax for the horror she would have to endure.
He smiled, wiped the spit off with his finger, and sucked it down like maple syrup. McKenzie shivered in disgust before Dr. Killian grabbed her by the throat and squeezed as hard as he could.
As she gagged, wheezed, and struggled for oxygen, Dr. Killian held the spray bottle to her eyes and laughed maniacally as he pulled the trigger. Except instead of a blizzard of hot chemicals, he got a beeping noise. He slowly let go of the chokehold and allowed McKenzie to cough violently and regain her breath.
Dr. Killian studied the device even further, his face growing more and more confused. He glared at the bottle before peeling the label off and seeing that the pepper spray was actually a beacon.
“What? You thought the courthouse wasn’t going to investigate their own process servers going missing? In about five minutes, the cops are coming to tear this place apart. You could have taken your blood money and paid off your patients like a good corporate stooge. You could have kept this quiet. But you made this shit personal and it’s going to get as loud as a motherfucker up in here!” McKenzie smiled as the words and rage dripped from her mouth.
It didn’t take five minutes. Sirens blasting off in the distance echoed throughout the room and Dr. Killian paced back and forth in nervousness. “No, no, no, no, no! I’m supposed to be the good guy in this story! I’m doing God’s work!”
“Sorry, Dr. Killian…but it’s crazy to rebel against the system,” said McKenzie with a wink.
“Okay, Mrs. Black Lives Matter! Okay, you Snowflake Justice Warrior! You want to be a martyr?! I’ll make you a martyr!” Dr. Killian pulled shock pads from the sides of the table and electrocuted McKenzie’s brain. She could feel her insides droop. She could feel her face fall off. She could feel her brain melting like butter on mashed potatoes. Her eyes popped out of her skull at one point. But she never lost that smile no matter how many volts of electricity she was subjected to. Why would she? It was hard to frown at the prospect of justice being served. She was a process server, after all.
The closer she stomped toward Dr. Oliver Killian’s office, the hotter McKenzie’s blood boiled. Her flat shoes were the most audible part of the hallway. Her chubby scowl and gray business suit indicated she meant…well…business. Deep inside, a wildfire began to grow as these white orderlies scowled at her black skin. Nonetheless, she was a professional first and foremost. Just deliver the papers to Dr. Killian, get in, and get out. A pepper spray bottle in her leather briefcase would only be used as a last resort.
McKenzie adjusted her suit and skirt and gave a hard series of knocks on Dr. Killian’s office door. “Come in!” he commanded and she did just that.
The first thing she noticed was the pristine condition of his office. Bookshelves with infinite wisdom, wooden plaques containing various college degrees, a marble office table with the latest computer technology sitting on it, and not one speck of dirt or dust unless one were to count Dr. Oliver Killian sitting with his hands behind his white fluffy hair. He adjusted his glasses and asked, “What can I do for you, young lady?”
“My name isn’t young lady. It’s McKenzie Youngblood and I’m a process server. The Paulson City Courthouse sent me here.” She pulled a thick manila envelope out of her briefcase and dropped it unceremoniously on the marble table. “You’re being sued by your former patients. Rough treatment, suppression of rights, unnecessary procedures, lengthy incarceration with no due process of any kind…you’re in deep trouble, Dr. Killian. It’s your right and your responsibility to contact the courthouse within a week of receiving these papers. Otherwise, the case will go on without you. Any questions?”
Dr. Killian’s sarcastically pleasant demeanor turned to silent rage as he rifled through the papers and read them hurriedly. “Psychiatric patients don’t have rights. This case will never stick.”
“Well, then I guess you have nothing to worry about, Doctor.” McKenzie leaned forward and said, “And I use that term loosely.”
Slamming the papers on the table, Dr. Killian, without raising his voice, seethed as he said, “Our facility is one of the best in the country. We are the good guys. We’re not the ones committing heinous acts on the street. We’re not the ones making life difficult for our loved ones. These patients are here because they deserve to be here. They’re a threat to society. How dare you question my methods!”
“Technically, I don’t have to stand here and have a debate with you. I could just walk out of this hospital and tell the judges you were served. But I’ve got to know something before I head out. When was the last time these patients have seen the summer sun? When was the last time they’ve had visitors? When was the last time they’ve had love or kindness of any sort? I know how this place works. Beatings, lobotomies, electroshock, repeat. Beatings, lobotomies, electroshock, repeat. Day after day, every hour on the hour. This isn’t a hospital. It’s a death camp, especially for minorities and women, which make up eighty percent of your patient roster.”
Dr. Killian stood up and slammed his palms on the table, still maintaining his silent anger. “We use those methods because they work. They’re the only thing that will. Crazy people don’t learn any other way. They don’t listen to reason. They don’t comprehend order and decency. They don’t live in our reality. If we don’t do this to them, the world will. These patients should be thankful for the lessons we teach them. Instead, they want to make a few bucks off of us and complain about us to the liberal media. If anybody should feel oppressed right now, it’s me and my staff!”
McKenzie leaned in closer until she was almost touching noses with Dr. Killian. She did her best to contain her own anger as she told him, “You’d better hope the judges and jury buy into your twisted propaganda. If not, then you’ve got a shit storm on your hands, buster. Who knows? Maybe this dump will be closed once and for all. Good luck with your trial.” Just as she was turning around, Dr. Killian grabbed hold of her wrist, his bony fingers barely making a dent in her thick skin. “You have three seconds to pull your hand away and then I’m whipping out the pepper spray.”
“Okay, Miss Youngblood. You win. You can have a tighter grip if you prefer that.” Upon releasing his clasp, Dr. Killian pointed his elongated, creepy finger at the door to his office.
McKenzie turned around and saw two beefy orderlies standing there with their arms folded and their faces fixed in death stares. “Great idea, Dr. Killian,” she said. “You can have yet another lawsuit on your hands and hemorrhage money like no tomorrow. You tell these orderlies to back off or I’m taking your ass to court.”
Dr. Killian whispered into her ear, “What good is a lawsuit…if you can’t even make it to the courthouse? You think you’re the only one to serve me papers lately? You think you’re the only one who’s trying to sue me? We’re not just doctors and nurses. We’re magicians. We make lawsuits…disappear.” He licked her ear hole to punctuate his last point.
She turned around to try and slap him, but he ducked out of the way and allows his orderlies to grab her tightly by both arms. McKenzie struggled and fought while screaming curses at her captors, but their grips would only serve to leave purple bruises on her arms later on. They bent her over the table and yanked her hair so that she was facing Dr. Killian, who glared at her with ophidian eyes.
“Nobody’s taking my money away,” snarled Dr. Killian. “We’re making enough of it as it is. Turns out locking people up is quite the lucrative business. The more patients we’ve got, the richer we all are. It’s basic economics.” He leaned his face close to McKenzie’s. “You’d have to be crazy to stand up to capitalism. So crazy, in fact…you’d need your own padded cell.” With the orderlies’ hands firmly behind McKenzie’s neck, Dr. Killian planted a sloppy tongue kiss on her lips and slammed her forehead against the table.
McKenzie’s head swam as she was roughly dropped to the ground. Sparkling stars and colorful clouds filled her vision as darkness threatened to overtake her. She tried to stand up on her own two feet, but her legs and arms felt like rubber. Any last chance of rebellion was snuffed away when an orderly kicked her in the skull and sent her on a one-way ticket to dreamland.
It felt like an eternity since she slipped into unconscious hell. Waking up from it proved to be an even bigger drain on her body. She tried to wiggle around yet again, but leather straps held her horizontally against a metal table. She tried to yell for help, but her lips were held together with what appeared to be medical tape. Despite being in bondage, she never stopped struggling, especially when Dr. Killian’s hazy image swirled into view.
“Fighting isn’t going to make things better, Miss Youngblood. Or should I say, Patient #855341. Why fight something you have absolutely no control over? Why keep fighting and expecting different results? That is the true definition of insanity. You’ll eventually leave this place like any other patient of mine. How soon depends on your ability to conform to my rules.
From this point going forward, you will do what I say. You will think the way I tell you to think. You will be cured of your insanity. Your brain is mine to play with. Your body is mine to puppeteer. It’s crazy to rebel against basic human order. It’s crazy to think you’re capable of winning. It’s crazy to bring a can of pepper spray to a gunfight.”
As soon as Dr. Killian dangled the can of pepper spray in front of McKenzie’s face, she opened her mouth as wide as she could and ripped the tape off that way. She spit in Dr. Killian’s face before taking deep breaths and trying to relax for the horror she would have to endure.
He smiled, wiped the spit off with his finger, and sucked it down like maple syrup. McKenzie shivered in disgust before Dr. Killian grabbed her by the throat and squeezed as hard as he could.
As she gagged, wheezed, and struggled for oxygen, Dr. Killian held the spray bottle to her eyes and laughed maniacally as he pulled the trigger. Except instead of a blizzard of hot chemicals, he got a beeping noise. He slowly let go of the chokehold and allowed McKenzie to cough violently and regain her breath.
Dr. Killian studied the device even further, his face growing more and more confused. He glared at the bottle before peeling the label off and seeing that the pepper spray was actually a beacon.
“What? You thought the courthouse wasn’t going to investigate their own process servers going missing? In about five minutes, the cops are coming to tear this place apart. You could have taken your blood money and paid off your patients like a good corporate stooge. You could have kept this quiet. But you made this shit personal and it’s going to get as loud as a motherfucker up in here!” McKenzie smiled as the words and rage dripped from her mouth.
It didn’t take five minutes. Sirens blasting off in the distance echoed throughout the room and Dr. Killian paced back and forth in nervousness. “No, no, no, no, no! I’m supposed to be the good guy in this story! I’m doing God’s work!”
“Sorry, Dr. Killian…but it’s crazy to rebel against the system,” said McKenzie with a wink.
“Okay, Mrs. Black Lives Matter! Okay, you Snowflake Justice Warrior! You want to be a martyr?! I’ll make you a martyr!” Dr. Killian pulled shock pads from the sides of the table and electrocuted McKenzie’s brain. She could feel her insides droop. She could feel her face fall off. She could feel her brain melting like butter on mashed potatoes. Her eyes popped out of her skull at one point. But she never lost that smile no matter how many volts of electricity she was subjected to. Why would she? It was hard to frown at the prospect of justice being served. She was a process server, after all.
June 8, 2019
Nation of Genocide
VERSE 1
Summer sun, waterless desert
Dead bodies resting forever
A nation built on oppression
Let’s hear your confession
Not a bunch of what-abouts
You’re worthy of the shouts
Graveyard on your conscience
Relax in your highest office
CHORUS
Nation of genocide!
I’ll never choose your side!
Nation of racial pride!
My free speech will not hide!
VERSE 2
Business deals, cheap entertainment
Marginalization and detainment
Dungeon torture, decapitation
Welcome to the murder nation
CHORUS
Nation of genocide!
I’ll never choose your side!
Nation of racial pride!
My free speech will not hide!
BRIDGE
You can call it social progress
I call it blood and gore offence
The only reason you hold office
Is filthy money in your pockets
VERSE 3
Not a nickel or the thinnest dime
You won’t get a penny of mine
Not a quarter with a buffalo’s ass
Your economy must collapse
EXTENDED CHORUS
Nation of genocide!
I’ll never choose your side!
Nation of racial pride!
My free speech will not hide!
Nation of ignorance!
Defend your values with vigilance!
Nation of Armageddon!
A fake smile is your secret weapon!
Summer sun, waterless desert
Dead bodies resting forever
A nation built on oppression
Let’s hear your confession
Not a bunch of what-abouts
You’re worthy of the shouts
Graveyard on your conscience
Relax in your highest office
CHORUS
Nation of genocide!
I’ll never choose your side!
Nation of racial pride!
My free speech will not hide!
VERSE 2
Business deals, cheap entertainment
Marginalization and detainment
Dungeon torture, decapitation
Welcome to the murder nation
CHORUS
Nation of genocide!
I’ll never choose your side!
Nation of racial pride!
My free speech will not hide!
BRIDGE
You can call it social progress
I call it blood and gore offence
The only reason you hold office
Is filthy money in your pockets
VERSE 3
Not a nickel or the thinnest dime
You won’t get a penny of mine
Not a quarter with a buffalo’s ass
Your economy must collapse
EXTENDED CHORUS
Nation of genocide!
I’ll never choose your side!
Nation of racial pride!
My free speech will not hide!
Nation of ignorance!
Defend your values with vigilance!
Nation of Armageddon!
A fake smile is your secret weapon!
June 7, 2019
Impostor Syndrome
***IMPOSTOR SYNDROME VS. ARROGANCE***
Last year when Hollow Hills put together the Still Standing anti-bullying anthology, Aurora Styles wrote a blog entry joking about how that book should be known as “The Curse of the Self-Loathing Authors”, or something to that effect. It was true. There was something about writing that book that made the authors, myself included, feel unsatisfied, like they have Impostor Syndrome. While it’s nice to be humble throughout your writing journeys, you have to believe in yourself at least a little bit in order to get shit done.
I must confess that I’ve struggled with Impostor Syndrome since I began writing and editing Emilio & Marigold for this year’s Hollow Hills anthology. I held such a negative opinion of my own writing that I actually started having anxious thoughts about potentially being fired from Hollow Hills. Of course, it would take more than writing a mediocre story for that to happen, but anxiety is anxiety and it doesn’t give any quarter. I’m not looking for sympathy nor am I fishing for compliments. I’ve dealt with the beast of Impostor Syndrome before and I can deal with it again. Beside, the anxious thoughts about a potential firing went away after twenty-four hours. That’s it.
It seems as though I’ve spent a good while trying to find a balance between Impostor Syndrome (extreme self-doubt) and arrogance (unjustified self-esteem). The middle passage is somewhere out there. I’ve got to find it. Just like I’ve got to find the middle passage between Mary-Sue characters and those whose flaws make them the most hated characters in my story. If you throw a pin into a gigantic pool of water, that’s where the middle passage is. Some authors have found it, others have not and their writing suffers because of it. Oh, there goes my Impostor Syndrome again!
In case you’ve ever felt like you were alone in this, know that you’re not. I don’t want to say that Impostor Syndrome is a necessary part of the creative process, because it’s not. Sure, you need to recognize your own flaws as an author and work on strengthening them. Sure, you need to take criticism gracefully and use it to build a strong foundation. But when your Impostor Syndrome is all-consuming, it can have some detrimental effects. I’m not saying I have the cure for what ails you, because I don’t. All I know is that some days you’ll feel like you can take on the world and other days you’ll feel like dog shit. Can you do anything about this? Can you have more high days than low ones? Hmm…
Not to let my Impostor Syndrome kick in again, but I really didn’t plan this blog entry through very well. I’ve got one page worth of text and I’m guessing it’s about five hundred words long, which is a thousand less than a novel chapter or short story usually is. Don’t worry, I don’t have my compliment fishing rod and tackle box out and I’m not a gold medalist in the Oppression Olympics. I’m just working through some things right now, that’s all.
You know what would work great for my Impostor Syndrome? Being able to rest my head on someone’s lap while they stroke my hair. It sounds perverted on the surface and that’s probably why my short story Schizophrenic Playboy wasn’t a smash hit anywhere that I posted it. But you know what? It doesn’t have to be perverted. It can be completely platonic. Gender wouldn’t even matter to me. Just resting my head on someone’s lap would feel nice right about now. I’ve been watching a lot of Cuddle Sanctuary videos lately, so that might be where I’m getting this from.
Do any of you struggle with Impostor Syndrome? I bet I’ll get a shit ton of yeses to this question, but I figured I’d ask anyways. What are some of your coping techniques? Do you just push through the days and hope that you’ve got more good days than bad ones? I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!
***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***
In between edits of Emilio & Marigold, I’ve been quietly writing new chapters of Beautiful Monster and the next one will be number twenty-three. In this chapter, Windham, Llewellyn, and Tarja are taking shelter in a cave on the beach and they’re trying to figure out a plan to reclaim the Xavier Village from the Shadow Asylum mercenaries and Atwood Queendom soldiers. Three warriors versus an entire army? How is that even possible?!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“Rape me. Rape me, my friend. Rape me. Rape me again. I’m not the only one. Hate me. Do it and do it again. Waste me. Rape me, my friend. I’m not the only one. My favorite inside source. I’ll kiss your open sores. I appreciate your concern. You’re going to stink and burn.”
-Nirvana singing “Rape Me”-
***POST-SCRIPT***
I feel that Nirvana’s anti-rape song will become a rallying cry for Windham Xavier throughout Beautiful Monster’s final five chapters. I’m strangely okay with that. It’s certainly more appropriate than “I’ll Be Over You” by Toto, which is what I’ve proposed for the first draft. The first draft…Millennium for emo kids…(shivers). Goddamn Impostor Syndrome!
Last year when Hollow Hills put together the Still Standing anti-bullying anthology, Aurora Styles wrote a blog entry joking about how that book should be known as “The Curse of the Self-Loathing Authors”, or something to that effect. It was true. There was something about writing that book that made the authors, myself included, feel unsatisfied, like they have Impostor Syndrome. While it’s nice to be humble throughout your writing journeys, you have to believe in yourself at least a little bit in order to get shit done.
I must confess that I’ve struggled with Impostor Syndrome since I began writing and editing Emilio & Marigold for this year’s Hollow Hills anthology. I held such a negative opinion of my own writing that I actually started having anxious thoughts about potentially being fired from Hollow Hills. Of course, it would take more than writing a mediocre story for that to happen, but anxiety is anxiety and it doesn’t give any quarter. I’m not looking for sympathy nor am I fishing for compliments. I’ve dealt with the beast of Impostor Syndrome before and I can deal with it again. Beside, the anxious thoughts about a potential firing went away after twenty-four hours. That’s it.
It seems as though I’ve spent a good while trying to find a balance between Impostor Syndrome (extreme self-doubt) and arrogance (unjustified self-esteem). The middle passage is somewhere out there. I’ve got to find it. Just like I’ve got to find the middle passage between Mary-Sue characters and those whose flaws make them the most hated characters in my story. If you throw a pin into a gigantic pool of water, that’s where the middle passage is. Some authors have found it, others have not and their writing suffers because of it. Oh, there goes my Impostor Syndrome again!
In case you’ve ever felt like you were alone in this, know that you’re not. I don’t want to say that Impostor Syndrome is a necessary part of the creative process, because it’s not. Sure, you need to recognize your own flaws as an author and work on strengthening them. Sure, you need to take criticism gracefully and use it to build a strong foundation. But when your Impostor Syndrome is all-consuming, it can have some detrimental effects. I’m not saying I have the cure for what ails you, because I don’t. All I know is that some days you’ll feel like you can take on the world and other days you’ll feel like dog shit. Can you do anything about this? Can you have more high days than low ones? Hmm…
Not to let my Impostor Syndrome kick in again, but I really didn’t plan this blog entry through very well. I’ve got one page worth of text and I’m guessing it’s about five hundred words long, which is a thousand less than a novel chapter or short story usually is. Don’t worry, I don’t have my compliment fishing rod and tackle box out and I’m not a gold medalist in the Oppression Olympics. I’m just working through some things right now, that’s all.
You know what would work great for my Impostor Syndrome? Being able to rest my head on someone’s lap while they stroke my hair. It sounds perverted on the surface and that’s probably why my short story Schizophrenic Playboy wasn’t a smash hit anywhere that I posted it. But you know what? It doesn’t have to be perverted. It can be completely platonic. Gender wouldn’t even matter to me. Just resting my head on someone’s lap would feel nice right about now. I’ve been watching a lot of Cuddle Sanctuary videos lately, so that might be where I’m getting this from.
Do any of you struggle with Impostor Syndrome? I bet I’ll get a shit ton of yeses to this question, but I figured I’d ask anyways. What are some of your coping techniques? Do you just push through the days and hope that you’ve got more good days than bad ones? I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!
***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***
In between edits of Emilio & Marigold, I’ve been quietly writing new chapters of Beautiful Monster and the next one will be number twenty-three. In this chapter, Windham, Llewellyn, and Tarja are taking shelter in a cave on the beach and they’re trying to figure out a plan to reclaim the Xavier Village from the Shadow Asylum mercenaries and Atwood Queendom soldiers. Three warriors versus an entire army? How is that even possible?!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“Rape me. Rape me, my friend. Rape me. Rape me again. I’m not the only one. Hate me. Do it and do it again. Waste me. Rape me, my friend. I’m not the only one. My favorite inside source. I’ll kiss your open sores. I appreciate your concern. You’re going to stink and burn.”
-Nirvana singing “Rape Me”-
***POST-SCRIPT***
I feel that Nirvana’s anti-rape song will become a rallying cry for Windham Xavier throughout Beautiful Monster’s final five chapters. I’m strangely okay with that. It’s certainly more appropriate than “I’ll Be Over You” by Toto, which is what I’ve proposed for the first draft. The first draft…Millennium for emo kids…(shivers). Goddamn Impostor Syndrome!
May 28, 2019
Emilio & Marigold Beta Reading
I made this post on Face Book and thought it should be made here too (verbatim).
So…another round of edits has been completed for my newly christened Emilio & Marigold story. I’ve added more details to my story and I’ve all but eradicated the words “little” and “sweet” from the pages (it hadn’t dawned on me until now how frequently I used those words). In an attempt to get multiple perspectives, I’m asking if there’s anybody here who would like to beta-read what I’ve written so far. I’ve already used my allotted three rounds with Marie and Aurora (I’m suddenly reminded of Little Bunny Foo-Foo getting three chances, hehe!). I’ve also paid someone from Writer’s Digest to critique it. Before that I had my good friend Mario take a look at it. All of these sources of critiques were insightful to listen to, but again, multiple perspectives are necessary, especially if they’re unfamiliar with my writing. The main thing I want to focus on is adding even more details to the story and where it’d be appropriate to do so. So…is anybody up for the challenge?
So…another round of edits has been completed for my newly christened Emilio & Marigold story. I’ve added more details to my story and I’ve all but eradicated the words “little” and “sweet” from the pages (it hadn’t dawned on me until now how frequently I used those words). In an attempt to get multiple perspectives, I’m asking if there’s anybody here who would like to beta-read what I’ve written so far. I’ve already used my allotted three rounds with Marie and Aurora (I’m suddenly reminded of Little Bunny Foo-Foo getting three chances, hehe!). I’ve also paid someone from Writer’s Digest to critique it. Before that I had my good friend Mario take a look at it. All of these sources of critiques were insightful to listen to, but again, multiple perspectives are necessary, especially if they’re unfamiliar with my writing. The main thing I want to focus on is adding even more details to the story and where it’d be appropriate to do so. So…is anybody up for the challenge?
May 26, 2019
Insane Asylum
VERSE 1
Prisoners have more rights than we do
Call it a hospital? That shit is see-through
A medieval dungeon with torture devices
A lobotomy is what you’ve decided
Electroshock to scramble the brains
Straightjacket so tight, extreme pain
Orderlies beating us up for no reason
Fresh new prisoners, it’s hunting season
CHORUS
Insane asylum, healthcare ward
Heard the euphemisms before
Spraying dog shit with cologne
Doesn’t make it smell like home
VERSE 2
Mental ward system is all about money
Got to keep them loonies from running
Lock them up and collect your payday
Maximize profit, taxman stay away
It’s not a crazy conspiracy theory
You motherfuckers refuse to hear me
Another wrestling match with the nurses
They too collect money like fight purses
CHORUS
Insane asylum, healthcare ward
Heard the euphemisms before
Spraying dog shit with cologne
Doesn’t make it smell like home
VERSE 3
It’s not the exception, it’s the rule
Whenever you pull out a torture tool
One day they’ll carry your ass away
You can be in the center of the fray
You can be strapped down to a gurney
Electroshock will leave you burning
A shot of horse to put you to bed
But like you said, it’s all in your head
EXTENDED CHORUS
Insane asylum, healthcare ward
Heard the euphemisms before
Spraying dog shit with cologne
Doesn’t make it smell like home
No insurance, no healthcare
The dungeon is right over there
Out of sight from the rest of town
Depressed frowns turn upside down
FINAL LINE
Hahahahahahahahaha!
No
Just no
Prisoners have more rights than we do
Call it a hospital? That shit is see-through
A medieval dungeon with torture devices
A lobotomy is what you’ve decided
Electroshock to scramble the brains
Straightjacket so tight, extreme pain
Orderlies beating us up for no reason
Fresh new prisoners, it’s hunting season
CHORUS
Insane asylum, healthcare ward
Heard the euphemisms before
Spraying dog shit with cologne
Doesn’t make it smell like home
VERSE 2
Mental ward system is all about money
Got to keep them loonies from running
Lock them up and collect your payday
Maximize profit, taxman stay away
It’s not a crazy conspiracy theory
You motherfuckers refuse to hear me
Another wrestling match with the nurses
They too collect money like fight purses
CHORUS
Insane asylum, healthcare ward
Heard the euphemisms before
Spraying dog shit with cologne
Doesn’t make it smell like home
VERSE 3
It’s not the exception, it’s the rule
Whenever you pull out a torture tool
One day they’ll carry your ass away
You can be in the center of the fray
You can be strapped down to a gurney
Electroshock will leave you burning
A shot of horse to put you to bed
But like you said, it’s all in your head
EXTENDED CHORUS
Insane asylum, healthcare ward
Heard the euphemisms before
Spraying dog shit with cologne
Doesn’t make it smell like home
No insurance, no healthcare
The dungeon is right over there
Out of sight from the rest of town
Depressed frowns turn upside down
FINAL LINE
Hahahahahahahahaha!
No
Just no
I Love My Dog
CHORUS
I love my dog X4
VERSE 1
Schipperke, sweetie pea, fluffy love for me
Fur child, jungle wild, energetic style
Tiny puppy, little chubby, man’s best buddy
Barge dog, he’s the boss, barks like he’s God
CHORUS
I love my dog X4
VERSE 2
Butt rubs, back rubs, bath time scrubs
Slice of ham, rack of lamb, feed the little man
Comfy bed, rest his head, after he’s been fed
Spoil him, pamper him, joyous to the brim
BRIDGE
His name is Willem and he’s my baby
You can pet him too, for sure, not maybe
You can love him, he’s sweeter than candy
A bacon cheeseburger will come in handy
A bowl of cereal will earn his friendship
A permanent home will make it endless
But watch out for his hyperactive spark
He’s so happy that he’ll infinitely bark
CHORUS
I love my dog X4
I love my dog X4
VERSE 1
Schipperke, sweetie pea, fluffy love for me
Fur child, jungle wild, energetic style
Tiny puppy, little chubby, man’s best buddy
Barge dog, he’s the boss, barks like he’s God
CHORUS
I love my dog X4
VERSE 2
Butt rubs, back rubs, bath time scrubs
Slice of ham, rack of lamb, feed the little man
Comfy bed, rest his head, after he’s been fed
Spoil him, pamper him, joyous to the brim
BRIDGE
His name is Willem and he’s my baby
You can pet him too, for sure, not maybe
You can love him, he’s sweeter than candy
A bacon cheeseburger will come in handy
A bowl of cereal will earn his friendship
A permanent home will make it endless
But watch out for his hyperactive spark
He’s so happy that he’ll infinitely bark
CHORUS
I love my dog X4
May 25, 2019
A Dog's Journey
MOVIE TITLE: A Dog’s Journey
DIRECTOR: Gail Mancuso
YEAR: 2019
GENRE: Animal Drama
RATING: PG for mild violence
GRADE: Extra Credit
An Australian Shepherd named Bailey enjoys life on a farm with his puppy parents Ethan and Hannah. He also loves their granddaughter CJ and has sworn to protect her no matter how many lives it takes him to do so. An alcoholic mother, a slew of bad boyfriends, and a dwindling music career all serve as obstacles for CJ growing up. The one thing she can count on is always having a puppy-duppy by her side despite the negative influences around her. Can this series of dogs help CJ find her way into a comfortable and loving life?
There wasn’t a single dry eye in the move theater when I saw this. Even though I take medication that keeps me emotionally numb, I also couldn’t help but shed a tear or two. Every death, every heartbreak, every cancer diagnosis, and every tragedy in this movie meant something. I wouldn’t have teared up for characters I didn’t care about, but CJ and her many dogs are incredibly deserving of not only the audience’s attention, but love as well. CJ may be the most lovable human character of them all, but even she’s not above making foolish mistakes from time to time. Her imperfections make her a suitable vehicle for our emotions. When she cries, you cry. When she’s happy, you’re happy. When she conquers the world, you too feel inspired to do so. That’s a lot of tears for a lot of moviegoers.
As many lovable characters as there are in this film, they couldn’t bring you those much-needed tears without their foils. Gloria, CJ’s neglectful and emotionally abusive mother, is very much deserving of your scorn. But even she can be redeemable, which is more than the audience will ever say about CJ’s criminal boyfriend Shane or her arrogant suit-wearing boyfriend afterwards named Barry. It’s toxic people like these that remind the audience over and over again never to make the foolish choices that CJ had the misfortune of making. These villains wouldn’t make good puppy parents. They wouldn’t even make good casual acquaintances. The sooner CJ is rid of them, the better off she’ll be. It’s heartbreaking to watch these people invade her life, but it’s necessary to keep the conflict strong and the audience’s eyeballs wet.
And of course, Bailey wouldn’t be able to protect CJ as much as he has if not for the power of reincarnation. This is a powerful theme in the movie, especially when the dead dogs run through a wheat field to cross the Rainbow Bridge. There are critics of reincarnation out there and they very well could be right. But there’s no denying the comfort it brings to owners of deceased pets. It doesn’t even have to be a religious deal. It could just be comfort for comfort’s sake. I had a spunky all-white cat named Simon who crossed the Rainbow Bridge in 2011. Two years later I adopted an equally-spunky cat named Tori, whom I jokingly call Simon 2.0 because of how similar they are. It could be a coincidence, but even my atheist heart doesn’t have it in me to ruin the magic for pet owners, let alone the moviegoers who shed many tears in the theater that evening.
It’s rare when a movie hits me where it hurts the most. I usually watch a movie with the idea that I’ll like it, but not much beyond that. I didn’t just like this movie. I loved it. It made me believe in the power of animal companionship all over again (not that I ever questioned it). Our fur babies depend on us to provide love and care. I’ll keep doing so for as long as I live. I consider it to be my life’s purpose, above my writing career even. That’s what A Dog’s Journey means to me and that’s why I’m giving it an extra credit grade. Congratulations, puppy-duppies: you’ve earned every broken heart.
DIRECTOR: Gail Mancuso
YEAR: 2019
GENRE: Animal Drama
RATING: PG for mild violence
GRADE: Extra Credit
An Australian Shepherd named Bailey enjoys life on a farm with his puppy parents Ethan and Hannah. He also loves their granddaughter CJ and has sworn to protect her no matter how many lives it takes him to do so. An alcoholic mother, a slew of bad boyfriends, and a dwindling music career all serve as obstacles for CJ growing up. The one thing she can count on is always having a puppy-duppy by her side despite the negative influences around her. Can this series of dogs help CJ find her way into a comfortable and loving life?
There wasn’t a single dry eye in the move theater when I saw this. Even though I take medication that keeps me emotionally numb, I also couldn’t help but shed a tear or two. Every death, every heartbreak, every cancer diagnosis, and every tragedy in this movie meant something. I wouldn’t have teared up for characters I didn’t care about, but CJ and her many dogs are incredibly deserving of not only the audience’s attention, but love as well. CJ may be the most lovable human character of them all, but even she’s not above making foolish mistakes from time to time. Her imperfections make her a suitable vehicle for our emotions. When she cries, you cry. When she’s happy, you’re happy. When she conquers the world, you too feel inspired to do so. That’s a lot of tears for a lot of moviegoers.
As many lovable characters as there are in this film, they couldn’t bring you those much-needed tears without their foils. Gloria, CJ’s neglectful and emotionally abusive mother, is very much deserving of your scorn. But even she can be redeemable, which is more than the audience will ever say about CJ’s criminal boyfriend Shane or her arrogant suit-wearing boyfriend afterwards named Barry. It’s toxic people like these that remind the audience over and over again never to make the foolish choices that CJ had the misfortune of making. These villains wouldn’t make good puppy parents. They wouldn’t even make good casual acquaintances. The sooner CJ is rid of them, the better off she’ll be. It’s heartbreaking to watch these people invade her life, but it’s necessary to keep the conflict strong and the audience’s eyeballs wet.
And of course, Bailey wouldn’t be able to protect CJ as much as he has if not for the power of reincarnation. This is a powerful theme in the movie, especially when the dead dogs run through a wheat field to cross the Rainbow Bridge. There are critics of reincarnation out there and they very well could be right. But there’s no denying the comfort it brings to owners of deceased pets. It doesn’t even have to be a religious deal. It could just be comfort for comfort’s sake. I had a spunky all-white cat named Simon who crossed the Rainbow Bridge in 2011. Two years later I adopted an equally-spunky cat named Tori, whom I jokingly call Simon 2.0 because of how similar they are. It could be a coincidence, but even my atheist heart doesn’t have it in me to ruin the magic for pet owners, let alone the moviegoers who shed many tears in the theater that evening.
It’s rare when a movie hits me where it hurts the most. I usually watch a movie with the idea that I’ll like it, but not much beyond that. I didn’t just like this movie. I loved it. It made me believe in the power of animal companionship all over again (not that I ever questioned it). Our fur babies depend on us to provide love and care. I’ll keep doing so for as long as I live. I consider it to be my life’s purpose, above my writing career even. That’s what A Dog’s Journey means to me and that’s why I’m giving it an extra credit grade. Congratulations, puppy-duppies: you’ve earned every broken heart.
May 21, 2019
Plague Worship
VERSE 1
There’s not much wrong with a needle poke
When contrasted to your anti-science hoax
Treating reason like it’s a big fucking joke
You don’t get to call yourself fucking woke
There’s got to be some kind of law you broke
Watching the masses fall down and croak
Open your eyes and fuck all your lies
How many more of us should have to die?
CHORUS
Open sores and bloody coughs
Yellow skin and orange snot
Vomiting like there’s no tomorrow
It’s plague worship, total sorrow
VERSE 2
Where did you get your shit of a bull?
A Russian troll who wants world control?
A leader whose brain is turning into pudding?
A CEO who profits from your home cooking?
Get that garbage out of your tiny brain
A needle is two seconds of minor pain
It’s nothing more and it’s nothing less
It’s better than cleaning up a gory mess
CHORUS
Open sores and bloody coughs
Yellow skin and orange snot
Vomiting like there’s no tomorrow
It’s plague worship, total sorrow
VERSE 3
You can drag your kid to the doctor’s office
Or spread your bullshit like a false prophet
No proof for the crap that you believe in
Armageddon is yours if you can achieve it
EXTENDED CHORUS
Open sores and bloody coughs
Yellow skin and orange snot
Vomiting like there’s no tomorrow
It’s plague worship, total sorrow
Measles, mumps, chickenpox
More reasons for a burial box
Making a comeback one last time
It’s plague worship, the ultimate crime
There’s not much wrong with a needle poke
When contrasted to your anti-science hoax
Treating reason like it’s a big fucking joke
You don’t get to call yourself fucking woke
There’s got to be some kind of law you broke
Watching the masses fall down and croak
Open your eyes and fuck all your lies
How many more of us should have to die?
CHORUS
Open sores and bloody coughs
Yellow skin and orange snot
Vomiting like there’s no tomorrow
It’s plague worship, total sorrow
VERSE 2
Where did you get your shit of a bull?
A Russian troll who wants world control?
A leader whose brain is turning into pudding?
A CEO who profits from your home cooking?
Get that garbage out of your tiny brain
A needle is two seconds of minor pain
It’s nothing more and it’s nothing less
It’s better than cleaning up a gory mess
CHORUS
Open sores and bloody coughs
Yellow skin and orange snot
Vomiting like there’s no tomorrow
It’s plague worship, total sorrow
VERSE 3
You can drag your kid to the doctor’s office
Or spread your bullshit like a false prophet
No proof for the crap that you believe in
Armageddon is yours if you can achieve it
EXTENDED CHORUS
Open sores and bloody coughs
Yellow skin and orange snot
Vomiting like there’s no tomorrow
It’s plague worship, total sorrow
Measles, mumps, chickenpox
More reasons for a burial box
Making a comeback one last time
It’s plague worship, the ultimate crime
